


Error in Expectations

by elenagiggles



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-09-12 20:09:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9088480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenagiggles/pseuds/elenagiggles
Summary: With Harry and Ron on the hunt for Horcruxes, Hermione is left to return to Hogwarts for her 7th year without the other two members of The Golden Trio. In the midst of all the chaos caused by the Carrows, Hermione finds an unexpected ally: Draco Malfoy. HG/DM





	1. Too Young

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of these characters or anything else from Harry Potter

 **Summary:** Harry and Ron go off on the Horcrux Hunt by themselves, leaving Hermione alone. Remus encourages her to return to Hogwarts to help protect the students during the next year, and she reluctantly agrees. There, Hermione is faced with the hostile punishments of the Carrows, and in the midst of all the chaos of Hogwarts, she finds an unexpected ally: Draco Malfoy.

 **A/N:** Hello all! Just some important info for the story: the Muggle-born ban at Hogwarts isn't a thing, and neither is the Muggle-Born Registration Commission. These obviously had to go for the sake of the story, given that Hermione is at Hogwarts. Okay, I think that's all. Enjoy!

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* * *

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Chapter One: Too Young

We’re taught all about the great world wars that color the pages of our history books. We’re taught about the horrible deaths, the admirable triumphs, and the bloody battles. We think we know everything about war, what it’s like, what to expect.

  


This was what Hermione Granger spent years of her life believing. Though, she never realized how wrong and naive this thought process was until she was thrown into the bloodshed herself. The thing about war was you never know what to expect, you never know what it’s like until you experience it yourself.

  


She faintly remembered her childhood self looking at pictures of the smiling soldiers holding overflowing mugs of alcohol. The men in those pictures were basically brothers, and they had looked so happy in the midst of all the chaos that plagued their lives.

  


The happiness expressed on the faces of the black and white soldiers was far from something she could say she felt. Harry and Ron were like brothers to her, yes, but for Hermione, fear was a much more prominent feeling than happiness.

  


Every day, Hermione carried the fear of being slaughtered because of her muddy blood, the fear of being captured because of her association with the Undesirable No.1, the fear brutally tortured for fighting on the wrong side. Fear held a permanent presence above her head, and joy seemed miles away from her desperate grasp.

  


War wasn’t happy. It wasn’t a time to have fun and bond with friends. It wasn’t a time to drink and party. The old pictures she admired were filled with lies. War was awful. It was filled with death and blood and despair.

  


Hermione was quite glad she came to this realization early on. She would never want to be in Ron’s shoes, who was currently drinking a bottle of expensive firewhisky, laughing with his brothers, one of whom with a freshly removed ear. Ron was oblivious to it all. Even with his family scarcely managing to avoid death at every turn, Ron still managed to have a smile plastered on his face.

  


She didn’t know whether she should pity him or be jealous of him.

  


Hermione hid a small grin in the pages of her book while the three boys roared over the hilarious comedies of some Quidditch match from the eighties. Something about a spectacular sort of injury that they would pay any amount of Galleons to see in person. Hermione found it hard to focus on her book with everything that was happening around her. For the past hour, she had read the same page over and over, not digesting any of the words. With the Weasley brothers’s boisterous conversation and Molly’s distant yelling from the kitchen, it was immensely difficult to focus on anything. Not to mention her thoughts which were running rampant inside her head. Hermione couldn’t expect to read one paragraph, much less an entire page.

  


Sighing, she closed the hardcover book with a quiet slam and let her gaze trace the candle lit living room of The Burrow, pausing on Harry’s slouched figure near the window. He stared solemnly out the window, looking into the vast darkness of the night.

  


Today took a toll on him, Hermione was sure of. With George’s injured ear and Moody and Hedwig’s deaths, she fully understood his sorrow. She just wished he wouldn’t take all the blame himself. It’s an awful burden to carry the guilt that Harry does, especially when it’s not Harry’s fault. Not really.

  


Yes, they were doing this for Harry, but it was much bigger than that. This war was about defeating the prejudice and evil that plagued the world. It was about ripping apart stereotypes surrounding Muggle-borns, Half-Bloods, and even Purebloods. For Hermione, this war was about putting an end to beliefs about how Muggle-borns are by default inferior. Hermione was fighting for Harry, but she was also fighting for herself.

  


She got up from her warm spot on the couch and walked towards her sullen friend. Staying silent and angry wasn’t going to help Harry. He needed to talk to someone, to anyone.

  


Ron, Fred, and George hardly took any notice of her as she stepped in between their conversation, making her way towards Harry. His eyes were so focused on whatever was outside the window, he didn’t look up when she approached him. She gently placed a palm on his shoulder and his head snapped towards her, eyes in alarm. Harry’s expression softened when he saw it was her.

  


Hermione tried her best to give an encouraging smile. “Hey, Harry…” she said. She nodded her head towards the door. “Come on, let’s go outside.”

  


She didn’t leave much room for him to argue, as she linked arms with him and practically dragged him towards the front door.

  


It was awfully cold outside, unusual given that it was still the middle of summer, but Hermione knew Harry needed to get out of that hot room of The Burrow as much as she did. It would have driven them both insane. Hermione led Harry to a small picnic table a few yards from the Weasley home, and they sat down on the hard, aging wood.

  


A steady breath escaped her pink lips as she stared at Harry. “It’s better out here, isn’t it? It was too hot, too loud in there. I couldn’t quite take it anymore. I just needed a― I needed a break. It’s all too much… Everything is…” she trailed off. Harry’s attention was elsewhere, somewhere above her head. Hermione swallowed, and said, “Harry, are you alright?”

  


His green eyes met her own, and he gave her a look that implied he thought her question was insane.

  


Hermione faltered. “No… No, of course you aren’t. Sorry, that was a stupid question.” She shook her head and broke their locked gaze, deciding to instead focus on the intricate lines of the wood on the surface of the table.

  


They both said nothing for a long while, staring anywhere except each other.

  


“Hermione…” Harry began, breaking the silence. “Is it my fault?” His voice sounded scratchy from disuse, and the devastated tone of his voice caused Hermione’s heart to wretch.

  


“No, Harry. None of this is your fault,” she murmured.

  


“It is though, isn’t it? None of this would have happened if―”

  


Hermione cut him off. “Harry, stop. You can’t let yourself think like this.”

  


“It’s because of me that Moody is dead. It’s my fault that George is without an ear… My fault Hedwig…” Harry choked, his voice gradually growing louder.

  


“ _Harry_ , listen to me. It is not your fault. _He_ did it. Not you. If you’re looking for someone to blame, blame him,” Hermione begged, clamping onto his hands.

  


Harry opened his mouth to give a retort, but thought better of it and shut his lips once more. His eyes were wet with tears that were too stubborn to fall. After a moment, he gave a small nod. He needed to understand this. Since Cedric died, all Harry had done was blame himself. It was the same thing with Sirius. The same with Dumbledore. He had a horrible habit of blinding himself with guilt, unable to see any logic or reasoning.

  


Hermione exhaled a sigh of relief. “It’ll all be over soon.”

  


“But when?” Harry croaked out, despair filling his eyes.

  


There was no way to tell. It could be weeks, months, years. Though with the growing power and number of Death Eaters, years seemed to be the most probable answer. It was also the least desired. The hardest part of their situation was that this night, these deaths, they were only the beginning. An unimaginable about of sorrow would inevitably come their way, and there was no way to predict when or what or how.

  


“Soon,” Hermione said lamely, not knowing what else to say.

  


Harry nodded, not completely believing what she said, but he tried to accept the false hope Hermione gave him.

  


A loud scream came from The Burrow that caused both Hermione and Harry to jump. Fear and dread crept through Hermione’s bones. The worst thoughts raced through her mind. Death Eaters invaded the Burrow. George’s injury proved to be much worse than they had originally thought. Someone had stealthily managed to poison their dinner.

  


It was only Ginny.

  


Hermione watched from the small squares of the window as the youngest Weasley chased Fred through the house with a long loaf of bread, a devilish grin plastered on her face. Hermione smiled at the siblings as they circled around the small living room, both redheads exploding with laughter.

  


Unlike Hermione, Harry looked at the entertaining sight with a grim expression. He shook his head and looked down at his lap. Hermione knew he was still hurting after he cut things off with Ginny last June. Harry was rather in love with her, and Ginny was with him. Hermione could’t imagine what it was like. To be separated from the one you love because of reasons that cannot be controlled… It seemed awful.

  


Hermione couldn’t understand. Not truly. She’s never been separated from someone she loved. She hasn’t loved anyone before, as far as she knew.

  


Whatever she had with Viktor was purely and simply a crush. He was older and dangerous. Viktor Krum was everything Hermione wasn’t, and that’s why he fascinated throughout her fourth year.

  


And then there was Ron… Hermione did love Ron, but it was the same sort of love she held for Harry. A platonic love, nothing more. Any romantic love she held for Ron was simply an adolescent, hormone induced crush. Hermione was totally and completely confident of this.

  


She didn’t even know what love felt like, not really. Hermione had read countless of romance novels over the summers, each with a similar notion of what love was, but Hermione had no clue as to what love was for her. She could theorize it, of course, but―

  


Hermione tore herself from her thoughts. No, she wasn’t going down the deeply philosophical path of love and the definition of it. “What’s wrong?” she asked Harry instead, hoping he hadn’t noticed her dazed expression.

  


“It’s nothing… I’m― I’m worried, Hermione. For Ginny. And it’s not even just for Ginny, but for everyone who’s going to back to Hogwarts this fall,” he said. “Part of me thinks we should stay. Go back to school with them…”

  


Hermione felt Harry’s same concerns. Hogwarts wouldn’t be the same, with Dumbledore dead. Albus Dumbledore was the only wizard who could put fear into Lord Voldemort’s evil veins. In many ways, they were the only true matches for each other. Both equally dangerous and threatening.

  


Dumbledore was essentially the heart of Hogwarts. With him gone, Hermione knew the safety she had felt her past six years of schooling would disappear. Especially with the uncertainty of who was going to take his place.

  


There still hadn’t been a formal announcement on who was to be the new Headmaster of Hogwarts. The Order of the Phoenix held out hope that McGonagall would be given the position, but Hermione wasn’t so optimistic. Lord Voldemort’s hold on the Ministry grew stronger with everyday that passed. After last June’s revelation about Professor Snape allegiance to the Death Eaters, Hermione was certain McGonagall would not be handed the coveted position of Headmaster. She strongly believed that Voldemort would name Snape as Headmaster once his hold on the Ministry grew to be unfaltering.

  


It didn’t help, of course, that her, Harry, and Ron wouldn’t be returning for their final year of school. Much to Hermione’s dismay, she was leaving to search for Horcruxes within the next few weeks. The idea of leaving school irked Hermione, but she knew it was necessary for Voldemort’s downfall.

  


She sighed at the thought and focused her attention towards Harry. “As long as they stick together, I think everything will be fine. I hope so, anyways.”

  


“Do you think Malfoy will go back? Crabbe and Goyle, too?”

  


“Maybe… It’s hard to say,” Hermione said. “I guess it really depends on if You-Know-Who needs them at his side. I doubt any of them hold an especially high rank, though. Why do you ask?”

  


Harry let out an indifferent sigh. “I’m was just curious…”

  


Hermione nodded and said nothing, tucking a piece of her brown curly hair behind her ear.

  


“After all of this is over, do you think you’ll go back? Finish seventh year?” Harry began again.

  


If it were up to Hermione, she would put the entire war and threat of Voldemort on pause and go to Hogwarts next month in an instant. Hermione wanted nothing more than to put on her black robes, and sit in the beautiful classrooms of Hogwarts for the next ten months. She wanted to spend her time studying too hard, while yelling at Harry and Ron for not studying hard enough. She wanted to spend her afternoons watching her best friends practice relentlessly at Quidditch. She wanted nothing more than to settle back into the comfortable routine of the past six years.

  


Hermione wanted it so, so bad.

  


That was impossible, though, and Hermione understood that. Harry needed her now more than ever, but there was no doubt in her mind that she would run straight towards Hogwarts once Voldemort was dead and the war was won.

  


“Yeah, of course.” she said with confidence, while Harry scrunched his nose in mock disgust. “Are you?”

  


Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. We’ll see.”

  


Hermione couldn’t help but laugh. Harry and Ron had never been as devoted to their schoolwork as they should have been. If he had the chance to skip out on an entire year of school, Harry would take it in a heartbeat.

  


“Well, Harry, if this all works out, you’ll be a war hero, and I don’t think you’ll have to go back if you don’t want to,” she smiled.

  


Harry returned her grin with a wide, genuine smile. “Really?”

  


“Really,” Hermione laughed. She forced her expression serious and looked straight into Harry’s eyes. “What about Ron? Do you think he’ll go back to Hogwarts?”

  


They stared at each other for a long moment, both their expressions placid and somber. It was Harry who broke first. A small smile crept across his lips until he was soon roaring with laughter. Hermione joined him, laughing so hard her stomach hurt, trying to ignore the grim thought that was sitting in her mind.

  


_When will we have an innocent moment like this again?_

_._

* * *

__

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There was nothing that Draco Malfoy hated more than being a Death Eater.  


  


Nothing.

  


Draco could remember looking at pictures from the First Wizarding War as a child. He had been so fascinated with his father and all his friends, and he wanted nothing more than to have the same experiences. Lucius Malfoy had always looked so happy in the black and white photographs. Smiles painted the faces of his father, Regulus Black, the elder Theodore Nott, and even Severus Snape wore a toothy grin in the pictures.

  


It had seemed so glorious.

  


But now that the Dark Mark was etched into his forearm and he wore a metal mask, Draco realized too late that life as a Death Eater was absolute _hell_. The Death Eaters from his father’s pictures were smiling because the liked it. They liked the killings, the rape, the torture. It enlightened them.

  


It was sick. The Dark Lord’s entire operation was sick.

  


Draco wanted out. He wanted out when he spent hours on end working on that damned cabinet. He wanted out when he stood on the Astronomy Tower with Albus Dumbledore that June night. He wanted out when he sat and watched as people were murdered. He wanted out when he saw the same people being raped.

  


It didn’t matter what he wanted. There was no way out. The only thing he could do was avoid getting killed and hope that Potter manages to kill the sadistic bastard.

  


Two years ago, Draco could have never imagined himself wishing Potter would do anything, but everything was different now. If he had the opportunity, he would drag the Dark Lord’s body to Potter’s doorstep and cheerfully say ‘Here you go, Potter! Now go work your scarhead magic or whatever the fuck you do and kill this monster! Thanks so much!’

  


Draco laughed at the thought. He would probably be hexed before he could even get an arm’s length away from Potter, but less right in front of him. All he could really do was sit on the sidelines and wait for a miracle. Until then, it was Draco’s duty as a devoted Death Eater to sit and participate in the awful activities.

  


Today, the awful activity involved some women who the Dark Lord apparently thought deserved whatever torture she was about to receive. Every Death Eater was present, expect for Snape, who was already ten minutes late. The Dark Lord insisted on waiting for Snape, so they all sat in a severely uncomfortable silence. The more callous Death Eaters, such as Draco’s Aunt Bellatrix, smiled menacingly at the others in the room, giving the occasional ruthless laugh. The quieter Death Eaters, like Draco himself, kept their lips sealed and avoided locking gazes with anything besides the expensive table. This was how most meetings went.

  


The door on the left side of the dining hall opened with a sudden and loud bang. Every head in the room turned to look at what cause the noise, only to see Severus Snape standing there wearing an indifferent expression.

  


“My most sincere apologies for delaying the meeting, My Lord,” Draco’s godfather drawled.

  


“Take your seat, Severus,” said the Dark Lord.

  


Snape gave a curt nod and walked briskly to his seat next to Lucius Malfoy. The Dark Lord spoke no words until Snape was seated in his chair with a brilliantly neutral expression that Draco only wished he could hold.

  


The Dark Lord cleared his throat, and his red eyes scanned over every face at the table. “I regret to confirm the mission to kill Harry Potter proved to be unsuccessful. However, a key strategist for the Order of the Phoenix was slaughtered by none other than myself.” He stressed the last word and paused, giving another long stare to his followers. “Alaster Moody was his name, I believe.” He took another long pause and smiled.

  


Bellatrix laughed obnoxiously at this, causing many to join her in nervous, hesitant laughter.

  


He stood up, ceasing any and all noise that filled the room. “I regret to say that my own wand has been destroyed in committing this death. I need a new a wand.”

  


The Dark Lord began his slow walk around the table, holding each follower’s gaze for a second longer than necessary. “Would anyone be so gracious as to offer their own wand to me?”

  


No one spoke. No one offered their wands. No one dared to say or do anything.

  


“No one? What a shame,” he hissed, as he continued his agonizingly slow march around the long, black table.

  


Draco felt his heartbeat pick up as the Dark Lord neared closer to where his father and he sat. He didn’t dare make eye contact with him in fear that it would be interpreted as an open invitation to take his wand from his fingertips. The Dark Lord’s footsteps echoed throughout the four walls, growing louder and louder as he neared Draco.

  


He kept his eyes glued to the lines of the table, desperatly trying to keep his breathing under control. That’s when he heard the footsteps stop. Draco didn’t have to turn around to know the Dark Lord stood right behind him.

  


The Dark Lord’s long fingers clamped onto Draco’s shoulders, and Draco forced his whole body to go still. The last thing he wanted was for The Dark Lord to see yet another weakness of his.

  


His hands maintained their strong grip for what felt like hours, but could have only been seconds or minutes. Draco couldn’t tell.

  


Finally he heard the menacing voice from behind him tsk, and he said “No, no, no. I’m afraid that won’t do.” And the footsteps started again, allowing Draco to let out a small, undetected sigh of relief.

  


However, it wasn’t long before the footsteps stopped again. When Draco saw who the Dark Lord stopped in front of, his heart plummeted. Directly in front of his father’s face, the Dark Lord stood palm out.

  


“Your wand, Lucius,” the Dark Lord ordered.

  


“My―my… what?” Draco’s father stuttered.

  


An awful grin appeared on the Dark Lord’s pale face. “I thought I made myself quite clear. I request your wand.”

  


From the corner of his eye, Draco watched as his father’s face paled. Lucius pulled his wand from his robes and reluctantly placed it in the Dark Lord’s waiting palm. His father did nothing to mask his nerves, as his hand shook tremendously, and Draco silently scolded him for it.

  


His father was a coward and a bigot. Draco had come to terms with this while trying to complete his suicide mission the Dark Lord had so generously given him. It was also during this time when Draco realized everything he’d been taught, everything his father stood for might have also been wrong as well. To be quite honest, Draco didn’t know what to think. He did know, however, that he hated his father almost as much as he hated the Dark Lord. Almost.

  


“Draco,” a voice called.

  


He snapped his gaze up to the Dark Lord, who now was standing on the other side of the room. His ominous red eyes bore into his own grey eyes, waiting for an answer.

  


“Yes, my Lord?” Draco mumbled, trying desperately not to break eye contact.

  


“I couldn’t quite hear you… What was that?”

  


“Yes, my Lord?” Draco said louder.

  


The Dark Lord smiled in a convoluted sort of approval. “Do you know who this is?” he asked, arm extended to the tattered women floating in midair.

  


“No, my Lord.”

  


“Crabbe? Goyle? Do you know the identity of our lovely guest?” The Dark Lord questioned, his gaze moving towards Draco’s housemates who were sitting directly across from him.

  


An echo of “No, my Lord” came from their mouths.

  


“Ah, yes. I wouldn’t expect you to,” the Dark Lord said. “This, my dear friends, is Professor Charity Burbage. She teaches Muggle Studies at our beloved school Hogwarts.”

  


Recognition hit Draco like a slap in the face. The matted dirty blonde hair, her oddly shaped nose. Yes, Draco had seen this woman before. He never took any note of her, though. As he would have thought a Muggle Studies professor inferior to him. Draco simply had no need to pay attention to her before.

  


But now Charity Burbage had Draco’s full and unwavering attention.

  


The Dark Lord let out a laugh. “Yes, Professor Burbage here teaches to her students the immoral idea that _Muggles_ are not that different from us. That we should be open to interacting with them… open to embracing their ideals. She even suggests that it would be harmless, efficient even, to _mate_ with them.”

  


A chorus of laughter surrounded the table, as The Dark Lord moved her floating body to the center of the table, her face positioned so Draco could clearly see every bead of sweat that covered her forehead. Draco tried to tear his eyes away from her, but couldn’t allow himself to look away.

  


The women was sending quiet pleads towards Snape, who successfully ignored them and simply stared with a vacant expression at her suffering.

  


“Hmm…” The Dark Lord began. “I can only think of one thing to do with you.”

  


In that moment, Draco’s heart stopped. It didn’t matter how many times he saw it happen, it never got easier like his mother promised him. Every time he saw it happen, his reaction was always the same.

  


“ _Avada Kedavra_.”

  


Her body dropped with an echoing slam on the table, and Draco stared in horror as her dead, open eyes stared into his. He held his breath and counted inside his head until he forgot what number he had last counted. This was how Draco coped with it all. He counted until the numbers got too high, and he forced himself to forget.

  


Unfortunately, Draco wasn’t very good at the forgetting part.

  


He distantly heard the Dark Lord give his wretched snake permission to finish Professor Burbage off. It wasn’t until the snake began to rip into her arms that Draco finally allowed himself to look away.

.

* * *

.

“Draco,” a voice called from behind him.

  


Draco expertly ignored it, not in the mood to talk to anyone, much less the two dense bodies that followed him down the narrow hallway of the Manor.

  


“ _Draco_ ,” the voice hissed again.

  


He stopped his fast-paced walk and turned around to find Crabbe and Goyle with two identically pathetic expressions on their faces.

  


“What?” Draco said in a low and dangerous voice. He hoped his tone would sound threatening enough, and they would turn around and leave, go back to wherever they spent their time lurking. Apparently, Crabbe and Goyle grew duller by the second as they stood with no apparent plans of moving in the opposite direction.

  


“We have a question,” Goyle asked.

  


Draco scoffed. “That’s really fucking spectacular, Greg. I’m glad you’ve finally figured out what constitutes as a real question. There may be a brain in there after all. Anyways, I have to go.”

  


He turned to leave only to have Crabbe’s hand tightly grab his forearm.

  


“ _Draco_ , please―” Crabbe begged.

  


He let out an overdramatic laugh. “I’ve long awaited for the day to hear you beg, Vincent, though I expected you to be on your knees―”

  


“Damn it, Draco, Shut the fuck up,” Goyle hissed. “It’ll take just a second.”

  


He used to adore having Crabbe and Goyle follow him around like lost puppies, proudly doing whatever dirty work Draco didn’t feel like doing himself. It became annoying after awhile, like the two oafs couldn’t very well think for themselves. In truth, they likely couldn’t. This is probably the reason why they were so willing to become Death Eaters.

  


“Okay, what is it?” Draco gave in, eager to be rid of them.

  


Crabbe and Goyle exchanged glances, and Draco raised an expectant eyebrow at them.

  


“Do you think Potter, Weasley, and Granger are coming back to Hogwarts this year? There have been rumors that―” Crabbe was cut off.

  


“You’re asking me if I think the bloody Golden Trio is coming back to Hogwarts this year? _That_ is your big question?” Draco asked, bewildered at their sheer stupidity.

  


Goyle opened his mouth to retort but was cut off by a fourth voice.

  


“Draco? Are you coming?” He spun around to see Theo Nott, leaning against the doorway of Draco’s personal study. Theo shot a judging glare towards Crabbe and Goyle.

  


Draco sighed and turned to face Crabbe and Goyle once more. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  


When he turned back towards Theo, he had vanished from the doorway. Draco forced his legs to move faster to avoid another unwanted confrontation with Crabbe and Goyle. Stupidity wasn’t supposed to take the form of a human being, but both Crabbe and Goyle managed to do embody daftness.

  


The door slammed shut behind Draco, and he collapsed into the nearest couch. He sighed. “Do you know of a Charity Burbage?” Draco asked Theo, who was sitting at the desk, his legs propped up.

  


“No,” Theo said bluntly.

  


“ _Professor_ Burbage? Taught Muggle Studies?”

  


“Perhaps I know of her. I never took _Muggle Studies_ ,” Theo spoke of the class with a disgusted expression. His reaction didn’t surprise Draco. Theo was brought up the same way Draco was. Both sons of Death Eaters, both preached and prodded on proper Pureblood manners, both raised to be successful Slytherins. The only thing that differed was Theo had yet to take the Dark Mark.

  


Unlike Crabbe and Goyle, Theo had a fully functional brain. He was third in their year right behind Hermione Granger and Draco himself. Draco only wished he would have befriended him sooner. They had grown up knowing each other, friends of sorts, but when they got to Hogwarts Draco shamefully flocked to Crabbe and Goyle, while Theo, ever the introvert, stayed by himself, befriending Blaise Zabini.

  


Theo Nott was extremely intelligent, and best of all, he didn’t hover the way Crabbe and Goyle did. He was logical, and Draco thought this was why he was so reluctant to take the Mark. For the past year, his father has been nagging him to get marked, but time after time Theo came up with some clever excuse as to why he can’t join the Death Eaters. Sooner or later, he would have to get marked. Draco knew this, and Theo did too.

  


“Oh,” was all Draco could mutter in response.

  


“Why?” Theo replied.

  


A sullen expression washed over Draco’s face. “I watched her die today.”

  


Theo merely nodded as he skillfully played with a glass ball that was bound to break if dropped. “So why did Crabbe and Goyle want to know the whereabouts of the Golden Trio?”

  
“Don’t know,” Draco mumbled, watching the flames dance in the fireplace.

  


“Probably to get in the Mudblood’s pants, huh?” Theo grinned to himself.

  


Draco laughed half-heartedly. “Yeah, maybe.”

  


Nearly ten minutes passed where the two boys said nothing. Theo played with his glass ball, coming too close to dropping it numerous times, and Draco let his eyes fall shut, surrounding himself with senseless thoughts to pass the time. It was a comfortable silence, one Draco couldn’t find with any of his other friends.

  


“Do you think they’d be stupid enough to go back?” Theo broke the silence, bringing the conversation back to the Gryffindor trio.

  


“No,” Draco confessed. “Potter and Weasley have Granger with them, and she’s not daft enough to bring them back to Hogwarts.”

  


Theo thought about this for a moment. “Yeah, she’s too smart to do that.”

  


Draco simply nodded and brushed his fingers through his pale blonde hair.

  


“They would be killed if they tried to come back,” his dark-haired friend thought out loud.

  


“They would be killed,” he agreed.

.

* * *

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 **A/N:** First chapter: Done! Yay! This chapter is mostly set-up, and the next couple are going to be set-up as well, so just stick with it and let me know what you think? I'm still figuring out how long the chapters are, this honestly was a bit short. I think the chapters will be longer as I get further into the story though! Also, my titles are all named after songs because I'm unoriginal. Haha, oh well. This chapter's song was Too Young by Storm Smith.

Be sure to follow my on tumblr for updates and such! My username/url is **malfoys**.

Anyways, thank you for reading!


	2. All Alone

**Disclaimer:** Unfortunately, I still do not own Harry Potter.

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* * *

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Chapter Two: All Alone

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The white light peaked from the curtains, hitting Hermione's face, and she silently cursed the bright beam for waking her up three hours earlier than she would have preferred.

Ginny's room was unfortunately located directly in front of the morning sun's rays. After all of the years she's spent sleeping in this room, you'd expect Hermione to get used to it by now. Ginny obviously had no problem with it, but Hermione couldn't stand it.

It's quite odd, actually. She could easily sleep through a blaring alarm without falter, but as soon as the curtains were ripped open, Hermione was awake. Ginny liked to nag her about this, complain about how Hermione couldn't manage to figure out how to sleep a minute past eight o'clock. However, Ginny's badgering could quickly be quieted when Hermione brought up Ginny's obnoxiously loud snoring.

The old bed creaked underneath her as she maneuvered herself off of the creaky mattress. The room was still relatively dark except for the bright strip of light that now laid across her pillow. Her eyes blinked a few times, as she adjusted to the still dim room.

Her eyes traced over to Ginny's bed, but it was empty. That was odd. Ginny wasn't an early riser. She had been asleep when Hermione crawled into bed, at least she thought she was. Hermione was so tired by the time she went to bed last night, there was no way to tell if she actually saw Ginny. There wasn't any reason for Ginny to be out of bed.

Unless she had gone to see Harry…

Hermione shook her head at the thought.

Harry worried himself too hard over protecting the youngest Weasley and ensuring her safety. He wouldn't risk starting a relationship now. It was the most dangerous moment for one. They were in the middle of war, and Harry was at the center of it all. He would never risk it, but that doesn't mean Ginny wouldn't.

Hermione groaned and made a mental note to talk to Harry about it later.

She searched the cluttered ground for a pair of jeans to put on. Half the clothes on the floor belonged to Ginny and were too small for Hermione. A glimpse of a pant leg Hermione knew to be hers peaked out and she grabbed for it. Quickly sliding her cotton shorts down her legs, she wiggled her dark blue jeans on and made for the door.

The sweet smell of Molly Weasley's breakfast hit Hermione as soon as the door closed behind her. Molly always managed to make the most exquisite meals, despite the family's low budget. It was one of Hermione's favorite parts of staying at The Burrow. No matter what was going on in the messy world of Wizarding politics, she could always trust Molly to cook something spectacular.

Excited to see what Molly had concocted today, Hermione walked a bit faster than usual down the spiraling staircase. When her feet reached the final step, her legs practically ran to the kitchen.

She nearly jumped when she saw the lanky figure that was seated comfortably at the kitchen table. A bright smile spread across Hermione's face.

"Professor Lupin," she beamed, a hint of surprise in her voice.

Her old professor's head shot up to look at her, and he returned her warm smile.

"Good morning, Hermione. Did you sleep well?" Lupin asked her.

"Hardly," Hermione muttered, sitting down in the chair across from him. "I was up late last night, unfortunately. What are you doing back here? I though you and Tonks wouldn't be back until the wedding?" She looked around the room. "Where's Tonks?"

Molly interrupted from her spot near the kitchen stove, seemingly oblivious to their conversation. "Hermione, dear, would you like some pancakes?"

Both Lupin and Hermione looked up at Molly. Hermione cleared her throat, and said "Yes, Mrs. Weasley. Thank you." She turned her attention back towards and raised her eyebrows.

Lupin brought his cup of coffee to his lips before speaking. "I thought I'd come a day early and help with wedding preparations. And Tonks, she'll be back tomorrow morning. She has an appointment at Mungo's today."

Hermione nodded. Tonks had told her a couple months ago that she was trying to have a child with Lupin, and Hermione assumed that was what her appointment was for.

Molly strode over to Hermione's place at the table with a large plate of blueberry pancakes waiting to be devoured. "You do like blueberry, correct?" Molly's high-pitched voice asked.

"Yes, thank you," Hermione smiled at the elder witch as she put three pancakes on the plate in front of her.

"Molly?" Lupin said. "Is everyone still sleeping? I would have at least expected Bill and Fleur to be awake?"

Molly put the platter of pancakes down on the table and shook her head. "Arthur left with Bill and Fleur hours ago, doing some last minute shopping for the _wedding_." The last word was laced with a subtle disgust. Even after a year of engagement, the Weasley matriarch was still opposed to the pair. She paused for a second, and continued, "Fred and George, on the other hand, forgot something at the joke shop. The four of them should be back any minute now." Her hazel eyes briefly glanced at the family clock, where all of her children were said to be in "mortal peril."

"The other three are still asleep?" said Lupin.

"Yes, as far as I know," Molly confirmed, turning towards Hermione. "Hermione, was Ginny still asleep when you woke up?"

Hermione's fork paused midway to her mouth, and her brown eyes moved away from the silver utensil, towards Molly. She hesitated for a moment too long before she quickly sputtered out "Yeah."

An awkward silence proceeded, and Hermione wanted nothing more than to melt into the wood of the chair and disappear. She could only hope the two adults took no notice to her obvious hesitation.

To Hermione's luck, Molly seemed keen to accept her answer, but Lupin's green eyes squinted at her, as if he was trying to figure out a complicated Arithmancy equation. For a second, Hermione thought Lupin would say something, but he soon turned his attention back to his coffee.

Hermione sighed a breath of relief and started eating her pancakes again, her mind racing around the stupidity of Harry and Ginny.

She would be lying, though, if she said she didn't see the sense in it. Harry would be leaving soon with Ron and Hermione. If she was in love with someone who had a set departure, she would want to make the last few days… memorable.

Her fork hit the plate with a clink, appetite lost. The chair scraped against the wooden floor as Hermione stood up to fetch herself a cup of coffee. The black, opaque liquid met the glass walls of the mug in her hand, and she was immediately eager to drink it.

On her way back to her chair, she brought the hot drink to her lips and took a long sip. Hopefully this would help her feel more awake. If it wasn't so bright outside, Hermione would have gladly covered her head with a thick blanket and fell back asleep.

She sat back down in her chair and watched Molly and Lupin. Molly took to fixing more pancakes for her other children, while Lupin took to watching whatever was happening outside the kitchen window. He was likely waiting for a copy of _The Daily Prophet_. It's what they did most mornings in The Burrow. While gouging down their hot breakfasts, they would read through the list of deaths on the back page, hoping they wouldn't see a familiar name.

There hadn't been anyone Hermione knew on the dreadful list. Not yet, anyways. Most of her friends from Hogwarts and from The Order knew to stay hidden. Most were skilled witches and wizards and could hold their own if they get thrown in a fight. Hermione knew all too well that skill and talent sometimes were not enough against the Death Eaters. She tried to stay optimistic, though.

She was lying to herself about the chances of winning this war, but her lies helped her avoid facing the horrible truth that was pushing on her at every corner. Hermione didn't want to believe that they could actually lose this war, so she let her Gryffindor optimism fuel her desperate desires of making it through the next year alive.

If she kept telling herself The Order could succeed, she was bound to believe it eventually, right?

Hermione's head shot up at the sudden commotion by the staircase. It was Harry, Ron, and Ginny stomping down the stairs one by one, making their way towards the kitchen. There was chorus of surprised hellos towards Lupin's unexpected but welcomed presence.

Once the two youngest Weasleys and Harry fixed their plates with a generous pile of pancakes, they settled into the chairs surrounding Hermione and Lupin.

"Morning, Hermione," Harry greeted, his raven hair a sleepy mess.

Ron said something too, but his mouth was so full of pancake that it was indecipherable.

Ginny laughed at her brother and rolled her eyes. "Have a good night's sleep, Hermione?"

"No, not really," she said, examining her fingernails, trying her best to fake an unamused expression that Draco Malfoy himself would be proud of. "Did you?"

Hermione's eyes flicked up to watch the red-head's reaction. It was just as she expected. Ginny's face turned a beet red, and her brown eyes widened in shock. Hermione flashed a friendly grin and glanced at Harry who stilled. "I'm kidding," she quietly reassured, not missing Lupin's amused grin.

Ginny took a quick look at her mother, who was preoccupied with washing the dishes. Her shoulders moved down as a heavy sigh escaped her lips. Relieved, Ginny smiled, and stealthily gave Hermione the middle finger.

Hermione let her jaw drop dramatically at Ginny's obscene gesture. There was a long silence in which everyone seated at the table waited and watched in anticipation of what would happen next. Hermione gave up her facade and broke the silence by erupting into laughter, causing everyone to do the same.

"I'm gonna miss you guys so much," Ginny sighed. "Can't you stay back? Come to Hogwarts for just one more year?"

Harry's mouth frowned in concern. "Ginny, you know we can't."

"Of course I do… I just wish―I wish you could, you know? It won't be the same without you there," Ginny said sorrowfully.

"Aw, thanks sis," Ron said, nudging his sister with his elbow.

"Not you, you git!" Ginny retorted, her face shocked he would even suggest such a thing.

"Hey! I'm not the git! You are!" Ron shot back. Hermione and Harry exchanged looks at Ron's poorly executed comeback, smirks tugging at the corner of both their lips.

"Language, Ronald," Molly warned, not looking away from the soapy sink.

Ron swore silently into his plate, taking another heaping bite of pancakes. He was purposely ignoring the looks that the other three Gryffindors were sending him. Ron had enough brains to know not to give them the satisfaction.

Hermione grinned, and she moved her gaze to Lupin, who seemed wholly unaffected by the show they were putting on. His leg bounced up and down as _The Prophet's_ delivery time drew near. Hermione joined Lupin in his longing stares into the blue sky on the other side of the open window. She didn't particularly want Harry or Ginny to catch her sending knowing looks between the couple, and Ron didn't seem up for conversation given his mouth was stocked with food.

Just when she thought the newspaper would never come, an owl soared through the window, perching itself directly in front of Lupin.

Lupin took the roll of think paper from the owl's talons, reaching in his pocket, and gave the owl a small piece of chocolate. "Thank you," he said, smiling at the beautiful bird.

The owl cawed once and flew out the window.

All eyes in the room stared at the rolled up newspaper, even Molly stopped her endless cycle of washing and drying the dishes.

Ginny was the first to speak. "Well, what are you waiting for? Let's see if there's anyone we know."

Lupin's green eyes settled on Ginny for a couple seconds before he nodded and pulled the rubber band from the paper. He unrolled the newspaper and flipped it directly to the back page, where the long list of names was located on every issue.

Before Lupin could get a word out, a round of gasps echoed throughout the room as their eyes fell on the headline of the front page. Hermione's eyes widened in horror as she took it in. She read the black, bold letters five times over because she didn't believe her eyes were working quite right. Her jaw went slack when she realized the words wouldn't changed despite how many times she read them.

Hermione felt her throat constrict. A minute passed where she forgot to breathe. This news was worse than any death plastered on the other side of _The Daily Prophet_ , Hermione was sure of it. While it wasn't another tragic death, what was on the cover would doubtlessly cause countless of deaths. Hermione took a shaky breath and met eyes with Lupin.

The werewolf in front of them noticed their unexpected shock, and with caution, he turned the newspaper over to get a good look at the front page.

He looked surprisingly calm, a stark difference to the other horrified faces in the room. Lupin read aloud, "Professor Severus Snape named Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

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* * *

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Today was an exceptionally good day at the Malfoy Manor.

The Dark Lord left last night with Bellatrix on a mission to the northernmost part of Europe in hopes of recruiting students from Durmstrang Institute. Draco had an entire day free to avoid worrying about having to watch someone die, being hit with the Cruciatus Curse, or being recruited for some awful mission. For this fine Monday, Draco was completely exempt from any Death Eater duties.

Thank _fuck_.

He couldn't even remember the last time he had a day to himself where he could be completely and utterly care-free. It had to have been fourth year, when Voldemort wasn't a threat. Not a real threat, anyways. If it weren't for Peter fucking Pettigrew the only thing Draco would have had to worry about was passing all of his N.E.W.T.s and how to take Granger's spot as top of their class.

Draco would give anything to, as repulsive as it sounds, live a normal life as some unknown bloody Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw. That way, he wouldn't have to worry about getting tortured and killed by a psychotic monster.

Yeah, he was going back to Hogwarts, but he was going back as Death Eater. Every house, even Slytherin, would fear him. The younger students would flinch and look at their feet when they past him down the corridors. The older, dim-witted students would likely challenge him to a duel, trying to prove that they could take on a big bad Death Eater. Draco wasn't prepared for any of it.

The worst part is that everything his peers thought of him was true. Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater. He was in Lord Voldemort's Inner Circle, just barely. He took part in torturing the innocent. He burned Muggle villages to the ground. He was a monster, one to be feared. This was the truth that everyone knew.

What they didn't know was Draco Malfoy did these terrible things to avoid getting killed. There was no other option. Not anymore, not after what happened on the Astronomy Tower. He made his choice, and now he was damned to live with it.

He sighed heavily and heaved himself off of the black leather couch of the living room. He needed a distraction.

Draco moved through the Manor's massive corridors until he came to the double doors of the library. His long, pale fingers wrapped around the bronze handle and pulled, the scent of old books and vanilla candles surrounding him.

The Malfoy Library was a spectacular sight, Draco silently admitted. The walls stood twenty feet tall, and they were lined with thousands of books, most pristine first-editions. His mother had a bit of an obsession with having nothing less than the best. Before the Dark Lord made the Manor his home, Narcissa would boast about the five hundred year old books about dark and rare magic. She would pull out her favorites scattered generously throughout the towering bookcases, and the Manor guests would always be quick to "ooh" and "aah."

His mother wasn't as anxious to show off her collection of Muggle literature, however. Narcissa had a small and special place in her heart for the publications of the lesser species. Shakespeare, Wilde, and Austen colored the spines of the shelves. Muggle books were Narcissa's guilty pleasure, but Draco had never dared to touch them. His father had brutally warned him not to go near the yellowing pages.

Draco didn't quite care what his father said now.

In an act of defiance more than anything else, he strode over to his mother's section of the library and traced his fingers along the leather spines.

Many of the books had the name "Shakespeare" scrawled across the spine. Whoever this writer was, he seemed to spend his whole life writing books. Draco looked in awe as his eyes followed down the shelf that held more than thirty different books. His hand reached to grab a book entitled _Romeo and Juliet_ when a voice from behind him called his name.

"Draco, are you enjoying yourself?" Draco's pale blonde head spun around to find his godfather standing there with black eyebrows raised.

He narrowed his grey eyes at the man and went back to pulling the book off the shelf. "Is there something you need, Snape?" Draco asked him, while examining the first page of the book.

_Two households, both alike in dignity,_

_In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,_

_From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,_

_Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean._

_From forth the fatal loins loins of these two foes_

_A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life…_

Draco stopped and raised an eyebrow at the black letters inked on the page. What a strange beginning… Lovers who take their life because―because of their families? Draco couldn't even imagine it. He read the first stanza again, and he found himself more bewildered at the fact that this Shakespeare fellow would put the ending of the story at the very beginning.

His reading was interrupted by Snape's incessant repetition of Draco's name.

His grey eyes met the black of his godfather's, shooting him a look of annoyance.

"Draco, you must pay attention," Snape pleaded, his black eyes filled with an abnormal amount of concern. "Please sit. There's something we need to discuss."

Draco's long legs reluctantly moved to the sitting area in the middle of the library, where Snape waited for him. As he sauntered towards the couches, his grey eyes never wavered from the yellow pages of the book.

Snape viciously tore the book from Draco's grasp and looked at the cover. Snape shot Draco a perturbed and calculating glare. It was apparent he knew more about Shakespeare and Muggle literature than Draco.

"It would be wise not to let anyone see you with this, Draco," Snape said in a hushed tone, carelessly throwing the leather book on the couch opposite of him. His hand gestured to the couch, implying Draco to sit down. Because Draco wasn't particularly willing to get in a row with the older wizard, he sat down, the tight leather couch squeaking as he did. Snape took a seat across from Draco, his piercing glare never leaving Draco's eyes.

After an excruciating moment of silence, Snape spoke, "You do intend to return to Hogwarts this year, is this assumption correct?"

Draco merely nodded.

"Good," Snape started. "I would―Draco… would you be willing to take up the task of Head Boy?"

His body stilled in shock, eyes attached to Snape, searching for a hint that this was some sort of a joke. Draco had concluded long ago that his family's association with Death Eaters and his affiliation to Slytherin House had consequently taken him out of the running for Head Boy. He thought it would always go Potter the Boy Wonder or some shy Ravenclaw.

But that was when Albus Dumbledore was Headmaster. Things were much different now.

Despite Snape's earnest expression, Draco still wasn't convinced. "Are you serious?"

He nodded. "Yes, it would only make sense, wouldn't it? Correct me if I am mistaken, but you are the top of your class, no? Behind Miss Granger, of course."

"Yes…" Draco said hesitantly.

"Will you accept my offer?"

Draco said initially nothing. Eventually a quiet "I suppose" escaped his lips.

A breath of relief vacated Snape's mouth, and he sat back, sinking further into the couch. "I need your advice on who to choose as Head Girl."

Draco's thoughts immediately raced to Granger. Obviously she deserved it out of all the girls in their year. If Dumbledore was still alive, Hermione would doubtlessly hold the coveted title of Head Girl. After all, anyone to deny her level of intelligence was a fool. Year after year, regardless of how hard Draco tried, Granger always came out on top. It was fifth year when Draco stopped striving to steal her top spot. It was simply no use.

But Granger, no matter how much she deserved the position, would never achieve it. It was impossible with Hogwarts now in the Dark Lord's tight grip. A Mudblood as Head Girl would destroy every thing Lord Voldemort stood for.

She likely wouldn't even be back for next term.

"Who are you thinking?" Draco asked Snape.

Snape pulled out a list of names of the girls in Draco's year. As predicted, he skipped right over Granger. "Of the girls, Padma Patil in Ravenclaw has the second highest marks of your year. But I've received word from the Ministry that the Patils have fled to India. They have no intention of returning to Hogwarts in the fall. Next on the list is… Daphne Greengrass―"

"No," Draco said before Snape could finish speaking. "The Greengrass family has already fled the country. Neither Daphne nor Astoria will be back."

"Can you tell me where they are?"

"No."

Draco felt Snape cast a silent _Legilimens_ , but he was unable to break through Draco's steady walls. Over the summer, his talent in Legilimency had become stronger. The Dark Lord had made many attempts to navigate through Draco's mind, but to no success. Draco's walls were too strong. If The Dark Lord was incapable of entering his mind, Snape had no real chance.

He would never tell anyone of Daphne's whereabouts. She had told him in complete confidence of where her family was going to escape the war, and he wouldn't betray his housemate. Not even under the pain of the Cruciatus Curse. It was smart of them to leave, Draco thought. Though members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, the Greengrass family never conspired in the Dark Arts like the Malfoys or the Blacks. Because of their elite status, Voldemort was desperate to have them among his ranks. The only way the ancient family could escape that was to leave the country and the continent.

Snape narrowed his black eyes at Draco. "Fine," he drawled. "The next person on the list is Pansy Parkinson."

"Yeah, okay. Pansy's a good choice," Draco advised.

Pansy Parkinson had gone through an immense change in personality during the past two years. When Draco and Pansy were young, she used to follow him around everywhere, similar to Crabbe and Goyle, except Pansy had an actual brain. It was a schoolgirl crush, and Draco eventually gave in. From third year to fifth, Draco and Pansy had been the Slytherin It Couple. The girls in their house knew not to go near Draco, and the boys not to go near Pansy.

After three years of shagging in broom closets, stolen kisses in the corridors, and playful touching in the Great Hall, Draco and Pansy eventually grew bored of each other. Draco knew it had been bound to happen. By the end of fifth year, they were merely together because Draco was the most attractive boy in their year and Pansy was the most beautiful girl. Their relationship was for convenience, and it never held any true affection.

After their quiet break-up at the end of fifth year, Pansy grew into herself. She developed a close friendship with Daphne Greengrass and, to Draco's surprise, Tracey Davis, a Half-blooded Slytherin. After five years of hearing Pansy's awful slurs aimed at Muggle-borns, a switch in her flipped. Draco felt a bit guilty about it… Pansy only used racial slurs was because Draco's conversations were so generously filled with them. She had been so desperate to impress him.

Pansy was ridiculously smart too. The reason her marks were lower than the Patil's and Daphne's was because she spent much of her youth pining after Draco, ignoring her studies.

Draco was confident Pansy would be a perfect fit for Head Girl. She doesn't have the nasty, unkind cruelties of Millicent Bulstrode or the dim-wittedness of Lavender Brown.

Snape wrote and circled Pansy's name on his list. "Thank you for your help," he muttered out.

He got up from his seated position and made his way to exit the library. Draco eyed the book that lay carelessly open on the couch next to him, anxious to grab it.

"Oh, and Draco," Snape interrupted his thoughts, causing Draco to jump slightly. "Do remember that the Dark Lord requests your presence for the raid of the Weasley wedding."

And how could his godfather expect him to forget it? He had been dreading the task for weeks already. Draco silently let out a groan, too subtle for Snape to hear, and sunk further into the leather couch.

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* * *

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The entire day passed in a blurry haze.

The other members of the Weasley family returned that morning only to be greeted with the awful news of Professor Snape's new position as Headmaster. A round of complaints proceeded, everyone screaming at each other that Ginny needed to stay home for her protection.

This wasn't possible, however. Unless the Weasleys left the country so they were miles away from the Dark Lord's control. And that would never happen. The only way the red-headed family would leave the Burrow is if their lives were on the line. Plus, attendance at Hogwarts was mandatory for all students in the British Isles, the Prophet so kindly reminded them.

The stress continued throughout for the whole day. Lupin searched for any loopholes to the new Hogwarts requirement. Every Weasley was desperate for Ginny to stay home except for Ginny herself.

She was bent on going back to Hogwarts, explaining the Order needed to have someone on the inside. The students needed to be protected. This spurred arguments that McGonagall could perfectly well do that. Which enacted Ginny to scream "One person isn't enough!"

Hermione agreed with her. Life at Hogwarts was going to be hell next term. Snape was headmaster, the notoriously cruel Carrow siblings were teachers, and Lord Voldemort would no doubt make an occasional visit to Hogwarts to check up on things. The Order needed to be located everywhere, especially in a castle filled with children who were in grave danger.

By the end of the day, Ginny succeeded. Much to her family's distress, Ginny would, as previously planned, attend Hogwarts next month.

Hermione greeted her pillow with a grateful smile as she crawled beneath the warm blankets. The time on her watch read eight o'clock, and Hermione didn't feel guilty one bit about going to bed at such an early hour. She was exhausted, and after last night's dreadful sleep, she was in desperate need of a good few hours of slumber.

About an hour after Hermione went to bed, she distantly heard Ginny climb into her own. Hermione, still not asleep, turned over to face the younger witch.

"Goodnight, Ginny," Hermione sleepily mumbled.

Ginny looked at Hermione, and smiled. "Goodnight, Hermione."

When Ginny spoke, her voice sounded fuzzy and weak, as if she had been crying. Hermione dismissed it, and she blamed her drowsiness. Her eyelids fluttered shut, and sleep took her.

The booming sound of Ginny's door slamming against the wall and the bright light of a candle ripped Hermione from her blissful sleep. It felt like less than ten minutes had passed since she closed her eyes, but the room was noticeably darker, save for the bright candle.

She pulled her blanket and shielded her face from the beaming light, which was close to blinding her. Hermione heard Ginny groan and yell something profane that her mother would hit Ron for saying.

"Hermione's still here, thank goodness," a voice that sounded like… was that Tonks?

Slowly, she took the thick, warm blanket off of her face. Her eyes squinted shut as they quickly fought to adjust to the bright light in front of her. When Hermione got a clearer picture, the familiar short body and bobbed hair confirmed that Tonks had finally arrived at The Burrow. Her brown eyes wandered to the other two figures near Tonks. One looked like Molly and the other… Bill? Or perhaps it was Lupin?

She heaved her body into a sitting position, glancing at Ginny. She looked as irritated as Hermione was. Hermione rubbed her forehead, willing for a more concrete form of conciseness to arrive. Mornings were always like this for Hermione, she never could think clearly. Though, judging by the view outside the window, it didn't look quite like morning.

"What time is it?" Ginny groaned to no one in particular, collapsing back into her bed.

Hermione turned back to the doorway, where the three of them appeared to be in a grave conversation. A fourth figure appeared, which Hermione knew to be Lupin. He whispered something to the other three adults. Hermione could only catch the words "Left," "Harry," and "Ron."

She cleared her throat, and asked loudly, "What's going on?"

The conversation in front of her came speeding to a halt, as four pairs of eyes met hers. They exchanged looks with each other, unsure of who was to speak. Lupin eventually pushed himself through Molly and Tonks so he was an arm's length away from Hermione.

Lupin took a steady breath. "Harry and Ron are gone."

"What?" Hermione mumbled, not at all comprehending what was said.

Lupin inhaled. "Harry and Ron… They left. Harry and Ron are gone, Hermione."

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 **A/N** : Haha yep... I used Romeo and Juliet. I got this massive book of all of Shakespeare's plays for Christmas, and I couldn't resist bringing it up in this story. Thanks so so much to everyone who followed/reviewed/favorited! It means so much to me. I love you all, and I'm so glad you guys liked the first chapter!

I go back to school next week, so before then I'm going to try to write and post another chapter. After that, I'm probably going to update weekly. Chapter 3 will be Bill & Fleur's wedding, and in chapter 4, Draco and Hermione will finally meet!

The song title comes from All Alone by David O'Dowda, which I think fits nicely, especially at the end... hahaha

Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

-Amanda


	3. Warm Shadow

**Disclaimer:** You guys know what this is for...

 **A/N:** To my commenters; I tried to reply your comments. I expected them to be in PM form like on ff.net, but much to my dismay they weren't. Haha, I deleted my replies right after so I'm sorry if you got an awkward email notification saying I replied to your comments. I'm still new to this whole ao3 thing :p Anyways, hope you enjoy this chapter! x

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Bill and Fleur's wedding was the stark beauty in the mess of darkness they were forced to live in.

The various decorations, colored in vibrant shades purple and pink, created a comforting aura when you walked in the enormous tent. The tent that sheltered the dozens of wedding guests, covered in a fine lace pattern designed by Molly. And when Fleur had stepped into view, all heads turned to gaze in awe at the divine intricacy of her dress, the flowing twirls of her blonde hair, and the dazzling smile plastered across her face.

Every aspect looked beautiful.

It almost masked the distress and fear that had filled the Weasley household for the past few days.

It had been nearly a week, and Hermione still couldn't believe it. Harry and Ron had actually left her behind. They had snuck off while the Burrow was sound asleep and ran.

At first, Hermione had greeted the news with bewilderment. She fully expected her two best friends to have just left for an errand or something. Maybe they had gone to visit Fred and George. Maybe they had a curious craving for some chocolate in the middle of the night. It seemed probable, knowing Harry and Ron, right?

When she realized how wrong her self-assurance was, Hermione became profoundly and utterly furious. Hatred was the only thought that ran through her mind. How could they have been so daft, so foolish to leave on the Horcrux hunt? The three friends had agreed to go on the dangerous mission together, the same way they did everything at Hogwarts. Together. The Golden Trio was supposed to stay _together_.

Not anymore, Hermione thought wistfully to herself. A thought sat in the darkest part of Hermione's mind. It yelled and yelled "I hope something dreadful happens… Then the two morons would see their mistake." Hermione ignored it, blamed it on her anger.

She wasn't sure when she would stop feeling such severe rage towards her friends. She currently was under the impression that it would never go away, she would always be angry towards them. But that was likely just Hermione's new found pessimism talking.

What made Hermione the most angry was the fact that Ginny knew.

The night Harry and Ron had left, Ginny had come into their room crying. At the time, Hermione thought nothing of it, but now Hermione knew that Ginny had tears pooling from her eyes because she had said goodbye to Harry.

Hermione felt a slight pang in her heart. Harry nor Ron had said goodbye to her. It was right of them not to… Hermione would have yelled at them for even thinking of leaving without her. She would have pressured them to stay.

It's not exactly true that they didn't say goodbye. Once the chaos had died down, Ginny gave Hermione a letter from Harry. In the midst of Hermione's ferocious wrath she threw the paper envelope in the fireplace and lit it aflame with a forceful _Incendio_. Ginny had looked at her in shock, but the younger witch was wise to say nothing about it.

Her eyes wandered towards Lupin, who was putting on an entertaining show of twirling Tonks around the dance floor.

Lupin had taken Harry and Ron's departure rather hard, despite not showing it. Tonks was present at the Burrow, but Lupin's personality was distant as if she wasn't there. After Sirius and Dumbledore's deaths, Lupin had become an unconventional sort of guardian to Harry. It wasn't the same relationship Harry had with Sirius or Dumbledore, but it was at least something.

Hermione was fortunate, though. Wherever Harry and Ron were, they were alive. Not for long, perhaps, but for the moment, Hermione was sure they hadn't managed to get themselves killed yet. The same couldn't be said for Lupin.

Her old professor had lost nearly everyone he loved. James and Lily Potter were stolen from Lupin's life when he was only twenty-one. Sirius Black imprisoned shortly after, Peter Pettigrew thought dead. Thirteen years later, Lupin discovered Peter to be a cowardly traitor, and a year after, his last childhood friend died.

Hermione would sooner die than live a life knowing Harry and Ron were dead. Besides Hermione's grandmother when she was five, she had never lost anyone she loved. Sirius and Dumbledore, of course, but that was more of a fondness for her elders than love. She had never lost a friend, and Hermione was terrified that the dreaded day grew near.

She admired Lupin dearly, for he got through day after day without falter. Even without losing anyone to death, Hermione had trouble with it. Lupin, on the other hand, seemingly stayed optimistic, and with his impressive wit, he knew the answer to almost every problem he faced.

Even the problem Hermione currently had.

It wasn't a preferable solution, but it was the only choice they had. Hermione's mind raced to the tense conversation she had with Lupin yesterday morning.

" _We need to talk, Hermione."_

_Her brown curls bobbed as she snapped her head away from her book at the voice in the doorway. It was Lupin, a concerned frown on his lips._

" _Talk about what?" Hermione mumbled, feigning ignorance, and her eyes stared back at the words on the pages._

" _You know what, Hermione…" Lupin started. "What are we going to do with you?"_

_He was talking about her current situation, of course. Now that her prior plans had been so abruptly stolen away from her, Hermione no longer knew what she was supposed to do for the rest of the year. Everything had been planned so meticulously, they had left no plan B. Their arrangements had seemed so certain, so strong._

" _I―I don't know," she said, trying desperately to keep her voice from breaking._

_Lupin stared at her with sorry eyes. "There is one thing you could do… Only if you want to, of course."_

_Hermione looked at him. "What?"_

" _Hogwarts," Lupin said, pausing afterwards to let her react properly. Hermione kept her expression placid and unwavering. It was a_ _great contrast to what was going on inside her head._

_Hogwarts had Severus Snape. He killed Dumbledore. He was a Death Eater. Who knew what else he willingly did at Voldemort's bidding._

_Going back to Hogwarts would be the closest thing to suicide. With the school in Voldemort's waiting hands, it was likely the most dangerous place for a Muggle-born like Hermione to reside for a better part of the year. She didn't want to begin to imagine what ruthless things the Carrow siblings were to do. It would be undeniably horrific._

_But Hogwarts was filled with wide-eyed first and second years, fine targets for any dark curses. It was filled with her housemates, who, with the lion crest on their chest, victims to a significantly more severe form of bullying from the Slytherins. There were teachers she loved, McGonagall, Flitwick, and Hagrid, and they would undoubtedly be inferior compared to the Death Eaters that were about to crawl the castle corridors._

_Hogwarts was the castle she loved, filled with the people she loved. It was in danger._ They _were in danger. Sure, there would be those who would fight back, but at what cost? People were going to be hurt to the point where if one more curse hit them, they would likely be dead._

" _Hermione,"_ _Lupin continued, "Ginny thinks we need more people on the inside, and frankly, I agree with her. I know you do. I also know that there's a part of you that was quite disappointed to miss out on your seventh year. Well… now you can go back."_

_She narrowed her eyes in thought. Hermione knew she would say yes. There was really no other option. Staying at the Weasleys for months and months would be hell, a constant reminder of the redheaded boy who left her behind. As much as she loved her, Hermione would have to constantly hear Molly's constant nagging. There would be no one her age… The Burrow wasn't enjoyable without friends._

_Hermione opened her mouth, took a tired breath, and said, "Okay."_

_A trace of joy appeared in Lupin's otherwise heavy eyes. "Thank you, Hermione."_

"Hermione," a different voice called, ripping her from her thoughts.

Hermione's eyes met a boy that appeared to be about a year or two older than her. Her breath faltered as she took in his eerily familiar features. He had disturbingly similar qualities to that of a member of the Weasley family. Shaggy red hair, freckles spotted across his cheeks, shocking blue eyes.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" she asked.

" _Hermione_ ," the boy prodded, eyes motioning to a more discreet corner of the large tent.

That's when she saw it. There were unusual flecks of green scattered in the blue of his irises. She had never seen eyes like them before. A color like that seemed impossible. Eyes like that were impossible. The true sign of a slightly feeble Polyjuice Potion.

This boy was Harry, she was sure of it.

He stared at her with pleading eyes, while Hermione tried to suppress any angry outbursts that might spur. She stood from her chair, and the red-headed Harry led her outside the thin opening of the tent, into the chilly air of the summer night, the busy hum of the wedding reception diminishing.

Once they were fully outside and far from any curious eyes, she didn't hesitate to smack him across the face.

Harry whimpered. "Hermione, I'm―"

"Don't," she warned, pure fury filled her brown eyes. "Harry, how dare you! How dare you leave without me! What were you thinking!? Oh, wait, I know the answer… You weren't!"

"Hermione―" Harry started, but was cut off.

"No! I am not finished talking. _Harry_ , we had it all planned out," Hermione hissed. "And you and Ron went and fucked it all up!" Harry flinched at her unnatural cussing. "I can't believe you… And you did it why? For my protection? For my safety? _No one_ is safe, Harry. I thought you'd have realized that by now." Hermione let herself take a few unsteady breaths.

"Didn't you read the letter?" Harry asked quietly, running a hand through his unusual red hair.

"What? No! No, of course I didn't read your letter! You think you can say goodbye with a few words written on a piece of parchment? God, I can't believe you…" Hermione trailed off angrily.

Harry's face looked perpetually confused. "Why didn't you read it? Where is it, Hermione?"

"I burned it," Hermione scoffed with no remorse. She ignored his hurt expression. "Where is Ron? And why on earth do you look like the spawn of Molly Weasley?

"He's watching outside the wards," Harry stuttered. "And Polyjuice Potion…Couldn't walk around as Harry Potter, couldn't I?"

Harry tried to give her a small smile, but she met it with a vicious and disappointed frown.

Harry continued, "Come with us, Hermione. It was a mistake to leave without you. A _huge_ mistake. Please, Hermione, you can leave with us tonight."

Hermione's expression softened. "Harry…I―Even if I wanted to, I can't."

"What? Why not?"

"I'm―I've already committed myself to somewhere else. You didn't really give me much of a choice in the matter," she mumbled out.

"Somewhere else? Hermione… Where are you going?" he asked.

Hermione stared at him. "Hogwarts," she sighed.

"Hermione!? You're not serious. No, you can't be…" he said, watching her abiding face. "You are. Hermione, no, you can't! Not with Snape as Headmaster. It's too dangerous. Please, don't do this. Come with us," he begged, shifting nervously on his feet.

She looked down at his nervous steps. "That's exactly why I should be at Hogwarts, Harry. Everyone is at risk, everyone needs help from the Order. We need to fight back, and we can't exactly do that from outside the castle."

"But Ginny―"

"Ginny can't handle it all by herself."

"Hermione―"

"No, Harry," Hermione said in a hushed and urgent tone. "You've made your choice, and I've made mine. Even if I wanted to go with you, I can't. I'm sorry. The decision's been made."

"Then unmake it! You can still come with us. We can't do it without you," he pleaded, eyes on the brink of tears.

Hermione smiled sorrowfully. "You can, Harry. You're smarter than you give yourself credit for. The Chosen One, remember?"

Harry didn't return her smile, he just looked like his whole world had crumbled on top of him. "Okay" was all he said.

Hermione nodded, unsure of what else to say. She decided to ask, "Where did you go? You and Ron?"

Harry shook his head. "Downtown London," he blurted out. "I didn't know where else, and Ron doesn't know much about the Muggle world outside of London…"

"You should try the Forest of Dean. It's secluded, a good place to hide. The Death Eaters won't be able to find you," she paused. "My parents used to take me there when I was younger."

Harry's faux blue eyes held her gaze, a silent understanding passing between them.

Hermione had tried desperately to ignore the thoughts that sprung inside her head since she cast the memory charm on them. If she forced her mind to avoid the topic all together, she thought it wouldn't hurt as much. Hermione was wrong. It hurt all the time. Even without thinking about her parents, the absence of them, no matter how subtle, was still present.

Harry took a breath. "There's something you should know, Hermione. Especially if you're going back to Hogwarts."

"What is it?" Hermione asked, eyes wide.

"I saw another vision of his. It's about the Horcruxes," Harry gulped. "I think―I think some of them have to do with the founders. Obviously, there's Slytherin's locket. I think I may have something of a lead, but I think there's more. One involved with Ravenclaw and one with Hufflepuff."

"And you think they may be in Hogwarts?"

"I think so, I don't know. There's no way to be sure. There's some kind of connection with the founders though, Hermione, I'm sure of that," Harry said hesitantly.

She pursed her lips in thought. "Okay, I'll see if I can find anything."

Harry's shoulders slouched in relief. "Thank you, Hermione―"

His words were left hanging by a scream that sounded from inside the tent. The laughter and chatter that previously served as background noise to Hermione's conversation with Harry was silenced in that instant. Harry's hand pulled the at the crease of the tent, so the reception was visible to their eyes again, and she saw it.

Kingsley Shacklebolt's Patronus floated in the middle of the freshly vacant dance floor repeating the same phrase:

_The ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming._

They are coming.

They are coming.

They are coming.

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* * *

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Draco Apparated straight into the muddy pond that sat right outside of the Weasley's wards. The elder Death Eaters laughed at him from their safe and dry spot in the tall, sweeping strands of yellow grass. He wasn't alone in the shallow pond. Crabbe and Goyle stood in the middle of the water with confused expressions spread across their round faces.

Annoyed, he groaned and began to wade himself out of the cold water.

It wasn't his fault. No one had informed him where exactly to Apparate. Draco had never actually been to the Weasley's famous Burrow before. With soaked pant legs, he stepped on the grass, and his eyes swept over the structure before him.

Even from a distance, the additional add ons of the thin house were obvious. The poor-looking house appeared as if it would tip over and collapse at any moment. The walls of the house were five different colors, and if a storm were to hit, it didn't look structurally sound.

Magic was likely a major help in keeping the towering home standing up right. It portrayed a clear contrast when compared to Draco's own family home. The Manor was dark and made of stone. The expensive walls showed every sign of a wealthy, aristocratic family's home. The Burrow looked like a comfortable home, while The Manor resembled a building of a stiff, emotionless politician.

Draco didn't know whether or not the Weasley home would last after the Death Eater's attack. He privately wish it would.

There was speculation that Potter would be here tonight, due to his bizarre affiliation with the Weasleys. That's why the Dark Lord had sent them there, after all. There would be no point otherwise. Except for the hopes of destroying a few key Order members.

Draco and the rest of the Death Eaters had been ordered to take Harry Potter as soon as they got hold of the dim-witted and self-obsessed boy. One thing was clear: no one was to kill Potter.

He didn't expect Potter to be in attendance, and if he was, he would be carefully concealed. Still, the Dark Lord would never dare to miss even the smallest of chances to kill the boy he despised.

A roar of laughter soared from the tent near the shabby house, and Draco scrunched his nose at the cheerful noise.

Some Weasley was getting married to Fleur Delacour. He remembered Fleur, of course. His grey eyes had spent the better part of fourth year gawking at her. Her beauty was undeniable, and Draco was truly baffled that she had chosen a Weasley of all people. What was the man's name anyways? Ben? Bill? It started with a B, but Draco hadn't bothered to remember.

Draco sighed, mentally dreading the moment they would have to attack. He hated the Weasley family and anyone who associated with them. They were vile with their annoying willingness to take in anything that moved with a sob story. The Weasleys were beneath him in every ways, but Draco didn't think death and carnage was the option. As he grew older, the realization dawned on him that death was a punishment no one, not even the despicable Weasleys, deserved.

"Wards are down," Nott grunted. Theo's father had practically begged his son to get marked, to join the rest of the Death Eaters on this raid. Predictably, Theo blamed it on his nonexistent health problems, saying he "didn't have the mental capacity to partake in such tasks." His father had given him a confused look. The elder Theodore Nott was not in any way intelligent. Theo got his brains from his late mother. However, the man was impressive at breaking down wards.

The Death Eaters exchanged nods of agreements with each other. All except Draco, who sullenly pulled his metallic mask over his face, trying to prepare for whatever awful crime he was about to commit.

The rest of the men and women followed suit, pulling the horrifying masks over their already horrifying faces.

They began their slow saunter towards the illuminated tent. His father had taught him at an early age that Death Eaters didn't run. That was a task reserved only for their victims. Death Eaters were supposed to walk, their masks and their sickening talent in the Dark Arts serve as enough intimidation. It wasn't a race. Draco could almost hear his father's words echo in his skull.

By the time they had reached the flapping walls of the tent. The party inside had grown quiet, which Draco thought was odd, given the life and happy chatter that occupied it only moments before.

They must know, Draco thought to himself, a silent celebration of relief filling his head. This meant that they could prepare themselves a small amount instead of getting a wholly unexpected attack from a large group of Death Eaters.

Bellatrix stuck her demented wand inside a crease in the tent and lifted it so she could get a better look. She smiled maliciously. Draco didn't need to see through the crack to know what was going on. The echoing sentence filled his ears.

" _The ministry had fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming."_

Draco felt himself pale, as his hand moved to clutch his wand. Yes, the Order was definitely prepared for this raid.

Bellatrix, unaffected by the news, cackled. She shoved her petite body into the opening of the tent and started shooting off curses, some of which Draco had never known existed before last year. Draco took a deep breath and moved his way through another thin crack of the tent.

It was chaos.

The attendees of the wedding were running at every direction. Unbeknownst to them, the Death Eaters were located at nearly every corner of the massive tent. It would be difficult to escape their pointed wands, not impossible but extremely difficult. It seemed the senses of all the Death Eaters were heightened when on raids. Nothing got by them.

Draco mumbled something incoherent and began casting muttered _Stupefys_ , hoping none of his fellow Death Eaters would notice. With a quick glance at the other black masked figures in the room, the answer was no. All of their attentions were focused on whoever their current victim was. Draco's arm extended out as he cast the spell, aiming at no one in particular.

With everyone in his near line of sight stunned on the floor, Draco's long legs walked to a more crowded area of the tent. But, almost involuntarily, he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the familiar witch.

Hermione Granger.

Draco's head rotated, and he jerked back in shock. Why was she here? His eyes quickly scanned the room. He didn't see Potter or Weasley. Why was only a third of the Golden Trio in attendance? Their bond with one another had seemed too impenetrable for them to be separated for too long.

There was no time for his thoughts to spin over _why_ Granger was here as there was a wand pointed steadily at her heart. Whoever was behind the mask had backed her against the wall of the tent, successfully planting fear across every line of her face. Granger, too, had her wand extended, but she was no true match, as the space between her and the Death Eater closed.

Before any logical thought could stop him, Draco snapped his arm to the Death Eater and casted a _Stupefy,_ stunning the cloaked figure instantly. The Death Eater's body slammed on the ground, and his heavy head lulled backwards.

Draco's head whipped around the room, pleading with whatever God existed that no one on his side saw him. His grey eyes wandered back towards Granger. She was looking back at him with a mixture of shock and fear. Her legs seemed to be incapable of any movement, as her brown eyes stared at him.

"Go!" he hissed at her, grunting so his voice sounded lower than it actually was. When there was no obvious sign she was going anywhere, he said, "Run! Now, you need to go _now_!"

Granger spun around arms searching for the nearest flap of the tent, and she threw her body outside, away from the dangers of the raid.

Draco sighed, not allowing himself to stand there for another second. He didn't have time to think about Granger's curious separation from Potter and Weasley. Draco turned his attention back at the task at hand and continued his endless uttering.

" _Stupefy_ , _Stupefy_ , _Stupefy_."

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* * *

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A stunned silence greeted Shacklebolt's Patronus.

Hermione didn't know whether to believe it, but she knew Shacklebolt wouldn't lie about something of this level of importance. She didn't quite want to believe it. For the greater duration of her summer, Lord Voldemort and his band of Death Eaters seemed like a faraway threat. Hermione knew this dreaded day was bound to come eventually.

As the blue orb disappeared from it's spot on the dance floor, all heads turned towards the abandoned space. Eyes were wide as the same thought raced through everyone's minds. _Was he serious?_

They weren't even able to discuss a logical plan. A storm of Death Eaters invaded the jovial vibrancy of the wedding reception, instantly causing screams and shouts. Shocks of green and red flied through the air. Heads ducked, feet ran. It was epitome of disarray.

Hermione whipped her head to look at Harry. "Harry, you need to go," she rushed out.

"Hermione―"

She shook her head, pushing his shoulders towards the outside. "No, _go_. It's not safe for you to be here. Find Ron. I'll be fine. Harry, _go_ ," she hissed.

Harry held her gaze for a few seconds. He gave a single, curt nod and he ran outside the tent without a single glance back at the chaos behind Hermione.

Her frizzing hair whipped across her cheeks as she turned back to survey the scene. Lupin and Tonks were currently fighting off a Death Eater that occupied the familiar, tiny form of Bellatrix Lestrange. Though, they all had those horrible masks on their faces. There was no way to tell who was who.

She saw a Death Eater make his way towards Luna. Hermione hurriedly pulled her wand out of her purse, and took a step towards her blonde friend. She was stopped almost immediately by a tall, hefty Death Eater whose wand was pointed directly at her. Her ears could be deceiving her, but Hermione swore she heard a sadistic, masculine laugh from behind the mask.

Her arm flew up, extending in front of the Death Eater. She gave him a glare filled with warning, her aggravating optimism hoping the hooded figure would reconsider killing her. Hermione realized how wrong she was when his long strides stepped to close the gap between them.

Hermione's legs stumbled backwards until her back hit the wall of the tent. He was only an arm's length away when a _Stupefy_ was cast. The newly stunned Death Eater collapsed to the ground almost instantly. Hermione was grateful for the stunning spell, but she wasn't the one who cast it.

Her brown eyes traced up to the direction of the spell to find another _Death Eater_ , arm still extended. Hermione's jaw went slack in shock. At first thought, she assumed it wasn't possible for a member of the Dark Lord's army to _save_ her. She looked down at the ground in front of the Death Eater's feet, searching for the Order member that must have saved her. Hermione thought that they must have been killed right after they saved her.

But there was no one. She looked at the small slits for the eyes behind the intricate mask. There was only black. Based on the impressive height, the person in front of her was obviously male. The person in front of her also saved her. Death Eater or not, _he saved her_.

The rest of the screams of spells around them dimmed, and Hermione just stared at him. Death Eaters were supposed to hate her kind. They were supposed to want her dead. They wanted to make her death slow and filled with excruciating pain. Because of her dirty blood, she deserved the worst of treatments. But here was this man, looming in front of her.

 _He saved her_ , she thought again, head filled only with shock.

What felt like minutes passed where they just stared at each other. Hermione was momentarily oblivious to the happenings around her. She opened her mouth to say something, but was cut off by his voice.

"Go!" he yelled at her. She searched her mind for some recognition of the voice. It seemed so familiar. Was it someone from school? Perhaps a― "Run!" he said again, this time louder. "Now, you need to go _now_!"

Hermione looked past his shoulders to see everyone else from the wedding slowly making their way out of the tent. To avoid driving herself insane with confusion, she spun around, hands searching for an opening in the white curtains of the tent. She found one and threw herself outside, the cold air filled with the faint scent of alcohol and dark curses meeting her warm cheeks.

She searched for any sign of a person she knew. She caught a glimpse of Ginny's long red hair and the faint beige of her dress. Hermione took a step forward and raced towards her friend, eager to put as much distance between her and that godforsaken tent.

Hermione nearly collided with Ginny, almost knocking them both to the dewy ground.

"Hermione?" Ginny croaked out.

She pulled the younger witch into a tight hug. "Ginny! Ginny, oh my god."

Ginny stared at her with urgency. "Hermione we need to go now."

"What? Ginny we can't leave the Burrow to these _monsters_ ," Hermione pleaded. Behind her old home and Hogwarts, the Burrow was her third home. Happiness and familiarity filled the walls, and she was shocked the Weasleys would be so willing to leave.

"Hermione… Hermione, you need to listen. Listen to me!" Ginny pleaded. "You have to Apparate us to Shell Cottage. You know where that is, right?" Hermione vacantly stared somewhere above Ginny's shoulders, and Ginny snapped her fingers at her. "Hey! Hermione. _Now_. You need to Apparate us _now_."

"Ginny… Why?"

"God, Hermione! Just do it! Everyone is meeting at Shell Cottage. _Come on_. Now, Hermione!" Ginny screamed, her eyes serious and desperate.

Hermione gripped Ginny's wrist, and focused her mind on images of Shell Cottage. The warm beach house, the soft sand, the calming ocean waves.

Hermione and Ginny were pulled into the cramped vortex that was Apparition. She felt her insides grow smaller as their two bodies squeezed through the imaginary tight tubes, traveling miles away in an instant.

The two witches fell with a thud on the beach, only an arm's length away from the water. Hermione coughed up some sand that had fallen into her mouth when she collided with the ground.

"Ginny, are you okay?" Hermione coughed.

Ginny sighed heavily. "Yeah… yeah, Hermione. I'm fine. Are you?"

"I think so," she choked out. Her knees shook as she forced herself to stand. She extended an arm out to Ginny who was still laying on the beach. Ginny gripped Hermione's hand and pulled herself up.

"We made it," Ginny croaked out, a ghost of a smile toying at the corners of her red lips

Despite it being quite possibly the most inappropriate of times, Hermione laughed. They made it. Just barely, but they made it.

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 **A/N:** Another chapter done! I was planning on posting yesterday, but I had so much going on I didn't have time. I hope you guys liked this chapter! Next up is the Hogwarts Express aka Draco and Hermione (finally) talk to each other!

From now on, I'll be moving to a weekly update schedule. I'm still not sure what day yet, but expect a new chapter sometime next week. On weeks or weekends where I have extra days off from school, I'll post between 2-3 chapters. If I have a three-day weekend, probably 2 chaps in week, and a week off will probably be 3.

Song Title is Warm Shadow by Fink. (In this chapter I guess think of Draco as Hermione's "warm shadow")

Thanks for reading! Let me know your thoughts! :)

-Amanda


	4. Bitter and Sick

**Disclaimer:** HP still isn't mine

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Chapter Four: Bitter and Sick

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August arrived and left in haze. The weather grew colder, and the sun left the sky earlier than before. Fall was coming, and it was about damn time.

Trying desperately to avoid anymore Death Eater raids, Draco dove into the yellowing pages of Shakespeare's plays during the past month. For a Muggle author, he was shockingly talented. The eloquent words inked on the sheets of paper captivated Draco, and he could see why his mother had such a large collection of this author's works.

From the sorrowful story of the forbidden lovers to the story of a King filled with an unbelievable amount of hubris, the stories of the past served as a momentary pause from Draco's death-filled mess of a life.

The tales fascinated him. Except for perhaps the one with the fairies. The ending was all too impossible. The three couples ended up married, happily in love. It wasn't at all realistic. In Draco's world, there were no happy endings. Only sadness, despair, and death.

That's how all great stories end, after all… in death. It's the only certain thing in life.

Luckily for him, Shakespeare's works weren't all happy endings and fulfilling love stories. _Romeo and Juliet_ ended with the lovers killing themselves. _Julius Caesar_ ended with almost every character dying. _Hamlet_ also ended in death.

Draco was quite honestly relieved. Muggle authors are typically obsessed with the notion that every story must have a happy ending. Shakespeare, however, recognized that not all stories end with a fucking perfect picture of sunshine and bliss. Most real stories, after all, do not that way.

Muggles are so blinded with this false idea. It gives hope, and hope is a dangerous thing.

Perhaps it was not Shakespeare's stunning language, but the brutal but necessary honesty that his mother was so drawn to.

He was disappointed he couldn't smuggle the entire leather-bound collection with him to Hogwarts. If he did attempt it, Draco's trunk would be filled completely, and there would be no room for his robes, possessions, and his _actual_ school books.

Besides, Draco couldn't possibly bring an entire library of Muggle literature without the incessant nagging of the rest of the members of his house. Crabbe and Goyle would ask him with scandalized faces why there were books by a Muggle author in his trunk, and they would likely pronounce the titles wrong. It would be chaos, and Draco was eager and excited to have a quiet seventh year. As quiet as possible, anyways.

So instead, he unfortunately had to settle for bringing only one book to hide in his book bag. Narcissa had multiple copies of this selection, so Draco doubted she would notice it's absence from her wooden shelves.

The sound of a train screeching on the metal tracks pulled Draco from his thoughts. He shifted nervously under his feet as the Hogwarts Express pulled onto the platform.

This was his last first ride to Hogwarts. The unwanted feeling of nostalgia creeped in, but Draco quickly suppressed it. It was only school. A means to an end, nothing more, but he couldn't help feeling a bit empty. His final year. As a first year, Draco had looked forward for being the top of the pack. He could bully the younger years without consequence, he was supposed to be free.

Freedom was far from his grasp. His seventh year of Hogwarts was going to be immensely different than what his younger self thought, Draco already knew.

His eyes glossed over the heads of students and parents, their eyes following the train as it came to a slow stop.

The anticipation and excitement that previously filled the platform had disappeared completely. The smiles were replaced with sad frowns. The eyes filled with happy, proud tears instead filled with ones of sorrow and concern. It was almost like the parents wanted the students to stay. Excitement was lost from the students as well.

They didn't want to go back.

_But they had to._

It was required by the Dark Lord. _All students must attend Hogwarts_. It was a way the Dark Lord could keep his eyes on the younger members of the wizarding community. He hoped he could recruit some of them to his side. DADA was replaced by Dark Arts in hopes to spur a newfound admiration towards the class and the skills amongst students. The Muggles Studies class that once grossly promoted affiliation with Muggles was now going to teach anti-Muggle propaganda.

Draco wouldn't have minded the changes to Muggle Studies if the class weren't required of all students. Was it really necessary for every student to attend the useless class? Even Slytherins? The Dark Lord apparently thought so.

The Hogwarts he knew died with Dumbledore. Draco recognized this, and the other witches and wizards on the platform did too.

"Draco," his mother's gentle voice started. Narcissa placed a manicured hand on Draco's shoulder and squeezed. Draco repressed the urge to roll his eyes. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," he sputtered out, looking past his mother's shoulder to Theo, who was currently enduring what appeared to be a painful conversation with his father. It wasn't a very good conversation, though. Theo said nothing, and his blue eyes staring vacantly at the concrete ground. Draco saw his jaw clench as his father said something nauseating.

"Draco," Narcissa warned, noticing his line of sight. "It's not polite to stare."

His grey eyes snapped to his mother's at her warning. Draco had spent years listening to his parents ramble off the proprieties of Pureblood behavior. _Don't stare, Draco. Don't point, Draco. Don't use that kind of language, Draco. Those slurs aren't appropriate in public conversation, Draco. Remember to be kind to all, Draco._

Except for the ones who are beneath him.

With Mudbloods, even Half-Bloods, he didn't have to be kind or proper. He could scream and throw violent hexes in their direction. His father allowed it. The Dark Lord encouraged it, called it a method of showing the inferior who is superior. It was necessary, according to them.

He ripped his eyes away from his mother's stern glare and began to stare at the sad sight of students saying their emotional farewells to their parents.

"Do you see Pansy anywhere?" his mother asked him.

"No," Draco said, not taking his eyes off the bustling crowd.

His mother huffed. "Well, shouldn't you go over Head Boy and Girl things with her? It seems that the two of you should have at least communicated with one another. I am very proud of you, Draco. Your father is too." She stumbled slightly on the last sentence.

"Of course he is."

"He is, Draco, even if you don't realize it. He's just… He is going through his own minor issues at the moment, but I suspect he'll be back to his old self in no time!" she said, an obvious and pathetic cheer to her voice.

Draco laughed humorlessly. " _Minor issues_? He drinks himself to sleep nearly every night. He practically crawls behind the Dark Lord's feet, waiting for a moment of redemption that will never come. He's _pathetic_ , mother," he hissed at her, keeping his voice steady and quiet.

"He is still your father," Narcissa sneered with a noticeable lack of confidence. Her eyes darted around the platform checking to make sure no one was listening.

Draco finally locked gazes with his mother. "Just because he's my father does not mean he is an admirable man. You know, I suspect it will be another five _fucking_ years until he pulls his shit together. And that's being generous."

" _Language_ ," Narcissa whispered.

 _Don't use that kind of language, Draco_ echoed in his head. He made a show of rolling his eyes at his mother's comment.

"You should get on the train," his mother said, eager to change the subject. "It looks like it's about to depart."

He looked around the platform. Hogwarts students were still scattered around. The train wasn't going to leave for another ten minutes. "I'm supposed to wait for Pansy."

"Well, it appears that she isn't coming."

"The Parkinsons aren't known punctuality, Mother," he drawled.

A bark of laughter came from the mouth of Theo's father. "They're not known for their loyalties either. Damn family… Parkinson was a proud, great Death Eater in the first war, but doesn't think he should serve in the second? Bullshit is what it is."

Narcissa gave a small, respectful laugh in response. Theo maintained his dead expression, and Draco didn't dare to say anything.

When it became clear no one else was going to speak, Nott spoke again. "See any Mudbloods around, Draco?" His eyes surveyed the busy platform.

"No," Draco said promptly. None from _his_ year anyways. He didn't know much of the students from the younger years. He knew which ones were Pureblood, and that was all that mattered, Draco supposed.

"What about the Davis girl? What was her name… Tami? She's got dirty blood, doesn't she?" Nott asked.

"Half-Blood," he corrected the older wizard.

Nott waved his hand in dismissal and shrugged. "Same thing, isn't it?"

Draco kept his lips sealed shut and said nothing in response. He mimicked Theo's bored expression and waited for Pansy to arrive.

Nott fidgeted amongst the awkward silence. Apparently the man found it impossible to stay still. The man was pathetic, almost as pathetic as Draco's own father. Theo's eyes flashed briefly to his father before returning to the floor again. His fellow Slytherin had the admirable ability of appearing to look preoccupied with his thoughts when in actuality, Theo Nott noticed everything. He was a master observer, and Draco was too. But Theo managed to observe the smaller, more intricate details of life.

"Draco," a familiar voice called from behind him.

He spun around and saw Pansy Parkinson standing patiently near her trunk. Her stance told Draco she was anxious to get away from the judgemental eyes of the crowd. Her black waves laid scattered across her shoulders, and her lips pulled into a wide, kind smile.

Draco nodded at her. "Pansy."

"Oh, Draco. How could I have ever forgotten how kind and warm you are. Please forgive me for my poor memory," she joked. "Congratulations on making Head Boy."

"And you for Head Girl. A big responsibility, isn't it?" Draco said.

"Nah, it'll be easy," Pansy easily dismissed. "It's just like being prefect but with a different badge, right?"

Draco only laughed in response.

Pansy turned to the other members of their group. "Hello Mrs. Malfoy, Mr. Nott." She nodded at them. Narcissa gave a short and polite greeting, while Nott muttered something about "blood traitors." Pansy ignored the comment with ease, and her green eyes met Theo's blue.

"Hi, Theo," she greeted.

"Pansy," he nodded at her the same way Draco did before.

The black-haired witch sighed and shook her head. "The same brooding Theo I remembered." Her stare darted between Draco and Theo, before pulling both into a hug, swaying them back and forth as she squeezed their three bodies together. "I missed you guys," she whispered in a voice so low that couldn't have possibly been heard by the two adults hovering near them.

Theo was the first to shimmy out of Pansy's tight hold. Draco soon followed Theo's lead.

"Is your pathetic fool of a father here?" Nott asked Pansy. The happy mood shattered in an instant.

Pansy smiled at the older wizard as if Theo's father had paid her the kindest of compliments. "No, Mr. Nott. Unfortunately, he decided to stay home today. If there's something you need to say to him, I would be delighted to pass the message?" Her teeth shone white and bright, a smile that could only come from a childhood of a respected Pureblood. Draco couldn't help but smirk at the witch. Pansy sure was Pureblood through and through.

Nott only scoffed in reply and muttered an impolite decline.

Pansy's father fought in the first war, this was true, but he had no intention of fighting in the current one. Of course, this angered Lord Voldemort to no end. He cast rounds of _Crucios_ on Pansy's entire family. Parkinson ended up giving over the Parkinson wealth. In a turn of events that shocked his inner circle of Death Eaters, he let them go, all of their possessions and riches stolen. They had nothing, only an empty mansion. Draco suspects the Dark Lord did it on the grounds of preserving the Pureblood name. He couldn't go around killing Sacred Twenty-Eight families.

After all, the Parkinson's were not blood traitors. Not technically. They continue to practice the Pureblood beliefs, but they're just quieter about it. The Parkinsons, similar to the Zabinis and Greengrasses, were neutral in this war. Not for one side nor the other. They just sat and waited for the bloodshed to end.

"Where's Blaise?" Draco asked Pansy.

She glanced between the train and Draco. "Already aboard. Waiting for you lot, I'm guessing," she said. He didn't miss the quick and nervous look she gave Theo's father. Pansy was obviously eager to get away from the man's presence.

Draco understood right away. Like Pansy, Blaise wanted to avoid confrontation with the detrimental Death Eater. Whenever his fellow Slytherin was unfortunate enough to be in the presence of Death Eaters, they always tried to recruit him. Blaise was brilliant at defensive spells, and the Death Eaters suspected he would be just as good at Dark Arts.

Blaise, of course, denied them time after time.

Theo spoke. "Well, we shouldn't leave him waiting…" Theo's legs moved at a rapid pace towards the entrance to the train, his trunk levitating behind him. The large brown trunk bumped into each person it passed, but Theo didn't care and continued his relentless and long strides.

His father stared at the recently vacated spot, and his face was a mix of sorrow and indifference.

Narcissa moved so she stood directly in front of her son. "Draco, please stay safe. _Please_."

"Of course, mother," he said. "It won't be like last year."

"Yes, but I'm afraid it will be worse," his mother muttered with such silence that Draco's ears had to strain to hear.

"Goodbye, mother," Draco drawled, eager to get away from the older witch before sad tears could spur from her eyes.

"Holy _shit_ ," Pansy muttered in a shocked voice. His eyes followed her line of sight, and he felt his the steady beat of his heart come to a speeding halt. Moments passed where he couldn't breath.

There, standing in the middle of the crowded platform, was Hermione Granger, big curls and Gryffindor confidence for the world to see. She laughed carelessly with the Weasley girl and Longbottom, but Draco saw right away that her happy smile didn't reach her eyes. To anyone who was paying attention, the smile was quite obviously forced, and her eyes seemed to have a thousand sad experiences swimming in them.

He scanned the other heads around the three Gryffindors. No sign of Potter or Weasley.

Draco mentally scolded her for the unusual display of stupidity. She, of all people, should know the dangerous repercussions of merely showing her face in public. The wrong person could show up at any moment and take her life with a simple _Avada_.

His body went still. The wrong person _was_ here, and Draco was standing right next to him. Nott, to Draco's great relief, was distracted from the Gryffindor's presence, too busy scolding the family next to him.

Memories of the night of the raid at the Burrow flooded his mind. Granger, a wand pointed at her horrified face. Draco, the one stupid enough to save her. He still hadn't forgiven himself for that mistake. He thanked Merlin no one saw his embarrassing act of impulse. Things could have ended up horribly bad if someone saw had seen him.

"She shouldn't be here…" Pansy said under her breath. Her gaze moved from Draco, to where Nott was standing. Pansy, the clever witch, had the same thoughts Draco did. She looked back at Draco with a… a pleading look? Almost like she was asking for permission for something. What would she―

Draco froze as he watched the black-haired Slytherin leave his side, sprinting to where the Gryffindors stood. He tried to whisper to her, beg her to turn around, to not do anything stupid. It was no use. Pansy's green eyes intently focused on the happy band of Gryffindors.

Granger's face fell as Pansy approached, as did Weasley's and Longbottom's. Her expression was no longer a strange mix of half joy and half despair, but pure bewilderment. Pansy said something that Draco couldn't hear, and Granger's face turned into a scowl.

Seconds passed, and Draco's feet remained planted to the ground. He stared dumbfounded at the sight before him. What the hell was Pansy doing?

He jumped at a tap on his shoulder. He spun around to find his mother, her eyebrows creased with concern and a frown painted on her lips. "Go, Draco," she whispered. Narcissa turned towards Nott and said louder, "Come on, Theodore, let's do my son and Miss Parkinson a kind favor and load their belongings on the train." She smiled at the man, not casting a single glance back towards Draco.

Draco knew full well that his mother had no intention of loading any trunks herself, but to make Nott do the work. A smirk toyed on the corner of his lips, but Draco was grateful for the momentary distraction his mother gave him.

Careful to keep his pace at a brisk walk, Draco strode towards Pansy and the Gryffindors, fixing his expression into one of pure disinterest.

The Weasley witch attempted to shove Pansy away from them, but Pansy effortlessly pushed the arm off of her. Her long black hair swayed as she yelled at them, arms crossed in front of her chest.

Draco took his spot by Pansy's side, their shoulders brushing. Granger was the first to notice him, as Weasley and Longbottom were preoccupied with their loud screams at Pansy. Granger nudged her friends, and all went quiet as their eyes took him in.

Draco cleared his throat. "Pans," he drawled, "Are the brainless morons of Gryffindor house causing trouble already? Starting earlier than usual, I see…"

Weasley scoffed and shook her head. "Hermione's _hardly_ brainless."

He continued as if no one spoke. "I am shocked, really. I would have expected you to be more cautious… You don't have that biased old fool for a Headmaster anymore. Must be devastating to know that even you lot can't run around the corridors breaking school rules without consequence anymore."

Longbottom opened his mouth to speak, but Draco cut him off.

"Now, Pansy. Tell me, what's going on here?"

Pansy frowned. "I―"

"You've got no right to tell us what to do, Malfoy!" Longbottom screamed, jabbing a finger at Draco's chest. "You are a pathetic waste of space! If you want to know who is brainless, take a look at yourself! You're a murderer and a coward! And that is all you'll ever amount to!"

"I have not _murdered_ anyone, Longbottom." Draco kept his voice calm.

Weasley laughed, but there was no humor in her outburst. "Bull _shit_. That mark on your arm says otherwise. Sure, you didn't kill Dumbledore, but that doesn't mean you haven't killed people, Malfoy!" She narrowed her brown eyes at him.

"Yeah," Longbottom agreed. "And we all know you would have killed Dumbledore if Snape hadn't have saved your ass!"

Draco pressed his lips into a firm line and cocked his head towards the Gryffindor. "How can you be so sure about that, Longbottom?"

"Because―" he started, suddenly unsure of himself. "Because you're _evi_ l! Because you wear _his_ mark. You almost killed Ron and Katie Bell! You aren't a good person, Malfoy! That's damn well why!"

Weasley took a step closer to him. "Leave, Malfoy. Take your Death Eater whore and _leave us alone_."

" _Ginny_!" Granger hissed at her friend, speaking for the first time. Her brown eyes darted between Pansy and Draco, suddenly scared of what violent acts that could spur from Weasley's insult.

Instead, Pansy laughed. She threw her head back and _laughed_. Pansy grinned, her smile filled with hatred and disgust. "I _fucking_ tried to help you. And you treat me like shit." She laughed again. "How could I have ever expected any different?" Pansy turned around, and Draco thought she was going to leave. She only ran her fingers through her black hair in frustration. Her eyes met Draco's, and they looked horribly sad. "I am not a Death Eater," she whispered towards the Gryffindors.

The tension in the air was thick, and Draco found it difficult to think straight. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying something he'd later likely regret. His eyes flicked to Granger, whose body stood unmoving. Her small arms hugged a book against her chest. _Hamlet_. Of fucking course, he cursed under his breath.

Her warm brown eyes followed his line of sight, and she gave him a curious, hesitant look. Within seconds, Granger's expression hardened. "You need to go, Malfoy."

Draco sighed. "So do you."

"Why?"

He looked towards Weasley and Longbottom, waiting for their next outburst. It never came. "Theo's father won't hesitate to kill you," Draco said, working hard to keep his voice indifferent. "Death Eaters are everywhere, and they would tear each other a part for a turn at you."

"Who the hell is Theo?" Weasley interrupted.

"Theo Nott." Draco noticed the fear that appeared on their faces at the familiar surname.

Granger stilled, her gaze darted past Draco's shoulders to where Nott likely stood. Realization spread across her face, and she looked back at Draco. "Would you?" There was confidence and courage laced in her voice, as Granger tilted chin up and stared at him with defiance.

" _What_?"

"Would you kill me? Hurt me? _Rape_ me?"

Draco was taken aback by her outright courage. He searched his mind for a feasible answer to her ridiculous questions, but nothing came to him. Draco shook his pale blonde head at her, and said, "You and your muddy blood aren't worth my time, Granger. I thought that was obvious. Now, if you value your life, Granger, _get on the fucking train_ ," he sneered through gritted teeth.

"No."

"I wasn't asking." Surely she was smart enough to recognize when her life was in danger. Draco suspected her refusal was more because of who was asking rather than the request itself.

Silence engulfed the Gryffindors and Slytherins once more as they locked gazes.

"Why the hell do you care?" Granger frowned. Her voice was quiet, her tone soft.

Because he was sick of seeing people die. Because he had spent all summer watching in horror as the Death Eater's took turns raping dozens of innocent women. Because his family was slowly becoming more and more dysfunctional. Because he didn't think violence was the answer to anything. Not anymore. Because he was sick of it. Of the death, the assaults, the abuse. Draco was sick of _him_. That's why he cared.

"I don't." Draco spit out, face contorted in disgust. It was a lie. It was an obvious and clear lie.

Something in her face softened at the two words. Her eyes examined every feature of his face, like she was searching for some kind of answer to an impossible question. Granger was able to see right through his lie.

 _Shit_.

Longbottom cleared his throat. "You need to leave, Malfoy."

"Draco…" Pansy's voice brought him back to reality. His wild grey eyes turned to her. She took hold of his hand and pulled him away from the scene, leaving the Gryffindors staring at him with distaste.

Except for Granger. Where the other two's lips formed identical sneers, Granger's mouth gaped open in awe.

Draco tore his eyes from them and wiggled out of Pansy's grip. He forced his legs to move faster towards the Hogwarts Express until he was practically sprinting down the narrow hallway of the train.

The distant sound of footsteps told Draco that Pansy was behind him, but she trailed far enough away to give Draco space to think.

That was the problem, though. Draco couldn't think straight. His thoughts ran in a thousand different directions in his mind. All revolving around the idiot Gryffindors, Pansy's blind and irritating urge to be heroic, and Hermione fucking Granger.

How dare she. Draco could silence her in an instant. He could make her life a living hell. He could have said generously pointed out her existence to Nott on the busy platform. Oh, the wizard would have gladly taken care of her. Draco has the power to destroy her.

But he didn't.

He stood there gaping at her questions like a bloody idiot. He acted like a coward. He was one.

Draco hated involving himself with the Death Eaters. In fact, he tried to put as much distance between himself and them as he could. Lord Voldemort served the opportunity of committing dozens of murders to Draco on silver platter, yet he denied it every time. Worst of all, he had slowly come up with more doubts over the whole anti-Mudblood propaganda that had been forced down his throat since before he could talk.

There was no doubt in Draco's mind that he held the title as World's Worst Death Eater.

And Hermione Granger saw straight through his facade. That damn witch. The hidden doubts that were layered in his mind had sat on display for her to see. Draco had allowed it to happen. He faltered at her questioning, and now he had to pay the consequences. He only hoped the Weasley girl and Longbottom were too dense to notice.

The only thing to do was ignore Granger. Pretend she doesn't exist, no taunting, no ridicule. That would be difficult, of course, her blood making her the biggest target for any Death Eater that crawled the corridors of Hogwarts.

But Draco had to try.

She was too smart for him. Like Theo, she noticed too much.

"Quite a scene that was, Draco," a familiar voice said.

His feet came speeding to a sudden halt. Draco turned to look at the dark-skinned Slytherin, who wore an especially annoying smirk. Blaise's lips spread into a friendly grin, and he stepped to the side to let Draco into the compartment.

Theo sat near the window, a book spread across his lap. He tried and failed to hide a guilty smile.

"Fuck you, Theo," Draco snarled. He heard Blaise laugh. "Fuck you too, Blaise."

Blaise laughed and sank into his seat, his eyes warm with amusement.

"Fuck Hermione Granger," Draco muttered, collapsing next to Theo.

"Ha! I wish." Blaise chuckled. Pansy walked in, and she flashed Blaise a cold grimace. Blaise predictably smiled at Pansy's suffering, and said, "Ah! The woman of the hour! Feeling especially Hufflepuff today, Pans?"

"Shut up, Blaise," Pansy said, taking a seat next to Blaise and across from Draco. "If it weren't for Theo's psycho of a father, I wouldn't have had to even step in. No offense, Theo."

Theo grinned. "None taken. He's an asshole."

"Hermione Granger," Pansy groaned. "Isn't she supposed to be the brightest witch of our age and all that bullshit? You know, I kindly told her that she needed to get into the train if she wanted to avoid getting her head blown up, and suddenly I was being screamed at! The nerve!"

Blaise tipped his head back. "Pans, what is your definition of 'kindly'?"

A laugh erupted from Theo's mouth. "Yeah, Pansy, I don't think you're version of kind equates to that of a Gryffindor's. What did you say exactly?"

Pansy's face grew red, and she crossed her arms. "Uh, I believe I said 'Granger, get on the fucking train or you'll end up dead.' Roughly that." Her green eyes remained fixed on the floor.

"Oh, I see. It might have had something to do with your warning sounding kind of like a threat. Gee, Pansy. We need to work on this whole hero thing. You aren't very good at it," Blaise said, laughing.

Pansy let out a small laugh and rolled her eyes. " _Hey_ , at least, I tried."

"I think Draco needs help being a hero, too. You got screamed at the most, I'd say."

Draco glared at Blaise. "If Pansy hadn't have went over to them, I wouldn't have had to get involved in the first placed."

Blaise's eyes looked giddy. "Ooh, the Blame Game, my favorite."

"Well technically, it's was my father's fault," Theo said, looking up from his book.

"Eh…" Blaise said. "Technically it's your fault, Theo. If you weren't going to Hogwarts, your demented excuse of a father wouldn't have ever been on the platform. So Pansy, Draco, if you're looking for someone to blame, blame our friend Theo here."

Theo closed his book and glanced at Draco. "What did happen, anyways? What did Granger say?"

Draco shrugged nonchalantly. "Nothing."

A scoff came from Pansy's direction as she leaned forward. "Well, Longbottom and Weasley lost their shit. Screamed at me, then screamed at Draco when he showed up. Things escalated and the Weaslette called me a… what was it? Oh yeah, a Death Eater whore. That was fun."

Blaise gasped, then laughed. "She didn't."

"She did," Pansy confirmed. "But no worries. Draco defended my honor. Thanks for that by the way. Um… What else? Things got tense, lots of questions towards Draco. We all made it out alive though. Barely."

Blaise hummed. "Draco, why do you think Granger is here without Potter and Weasley? Seems a bit odd, doesn't it?"

"Don't know. She was at the wedding alone too," Draco said.

A grim silence met the mention of the Weasley wedding. For the past month, Draco had tried to avoid letting his thoughts float to that night. Because when he thought of that night, he inevitably thought of saving Granger.

A knock on the compartment door tore through the silence. All four pairs of eyes stared at each other, each one of the Slytherins waiting for someone else to open the door.

"Fine, fine," Pansy muttered. "I'll get it. Don't all get up at once."

She slid open the door to a second year Ravenclaw who shook in fear as she took in the compartment full of snakes. The girl was dreadfully nervous, and Blaise smiled which only made her small body shake more.

"Excuse me, I―I have a―a letter for Miss Parkinson and Mr. Mal―Malfoy," she stammered, her voice trembling with each word she spoke.

Pansy took the piece of paper from the girl's hand. "Thank you so much." Once the compartment door was shut, she said, "How the hell are we supposed to be Head Girl and Head Boy if everyone in the school is scared we're going to kill them?"

"Oh yeah, congratulations on that. Rules don't apply to me, right?" Blaise wagged his eyebrows at Pansy.

Pansy shrugged. "As long as a teacher doesn't catch you, I don't care what you do, Blaise."

Blaise grinned, evidently satisfied.

"What's it say?" Draco asked her.

Pansy pursed her lips as she skimmed over the words. "Huh… Draco, did you know they're not having prefects this year?"

"What?" Draco's eyes narrowed, and he tore the paper out of Pansy's hands.

"Hey!" Pansy yelled.

"Shh…" Draco scanned the paper. "Why wouldn't they have prefects? Do they expect the Heads to do everything themselves? No more Defense, we knew that. Same with the Muggle Studies…" His eyes paused and widened at the last paragraph.

Pansy noticed and sat up straighter. "Draco… Draco, what is it?"

He couldn't find the words to speak. Pansy grabbed the paper and her gaze traced to the bottom of the page. She stilled, and her green eyes flicked up to the other boys in the compartment. Pansy licked her lips and read from the parchment. " _Beginning this Fall, Professors at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry are now permitted to use the Cruciatus Curse to punish students for any bad behavior. Please spread the above information with other students_."

Theo was the first to speak. "They can't do that. They can't do that to students, to the first years. They're still only kids!" He shook his head in disbelief.

"They can do that. They did," Draco said. "Because _he_ allowed it."

Pansy's jaw went slack. "Well, we have to do something. We can't just sit by and let children lose their minds because they're getting thrown a _Crucio_ every other day!"

"There's nothing we can do about it, Pansy."

"Draco, there has to be something…" her voice trailed off, realization settling in.

Blaise sighed. " _Shit_."

Draco met eyes with Theo, a silent message passing between them. Draco knew something to help, and Theo did too. But there was no way they would risk their own asses for that. If they're found out… Draco didn't even want to begin to imagine what would happen.

"There is something―" Theo blurted out.

" _Theo_ ," Draco shot him a warning glare.

"Dammit, Draco. It's not like we're telling the whole damn school. As long as Pansy and Blaise keep it to themselves, we'll be fine."

A heavy sigh escaped Draco's lips. He nodded for Theo to continue.

"Draco and I… We came up with a sort of countercurse for the Cruciatus Curse. It's by no means perfect, but―"

Blaise cut Theo off. " _Fuck_! You guys _created_ a spell? Damn, that's like Merlin level shit. How'd you do it?"

Theo shrugged. "We just researched. Lots of trips to the Restricted Section. Anyways, the spell, like I said, it's not perfect. It only takes away the initial pain of the Cruciatus Curse, which is the worst part of it. Side effects are still there. The vomiting, passing out, seizing in some cases… That's all still there."

"That's fucking impressive! How long did it take to figure this out?" Blaise asked.

Theo and Draco exchanged glances. "During fifth year. We started in the fall, had it figured out before Easter holidays," Draco explained.

"Damn." Blaise sat back in his seat in awe.

"Well, what is it? What's the spell?" Pansy said.

Theo ran a hand through his brown hair before he spoke. " _Fero_. As long as you're able to say it before the curse hits you, or even during, you should be fine."

Blaise exhaled. "Wow… _Fero_. What does it mean?"

"I endure," Draco said. "It's Latin."

Blaise looked ecstatic, but Pansy didn't share his enthusiasm. Pansy's expression was serious as she spoke. "Draco, Theo… How did you learn this spell?"

Draco and Theo's silence was enough of an answer for her.

"You practiced it on each other," Pansy said. "You used _Crucio_ on _each other_."

"We didn't really have any other options, Pans. We needed it to be perfect," Theo said.

Pansy sighed. "Is it a difficult spell to learn?"

Theo tilted his head back in thought. "It's… advanced."

She bit her lip and nodded. Pansy hoisted herself up from her seat. "Come on, Draco. Let's go."

"What? You want to practice _now_?" Draco sputtered out.

Pansy scoffed. "No. This thing," Pansy waved the piece of paper in the air, "says we have to spread the word to other students. No better time than right now, right? Everyone is in the same place."

Draco moaned. "Yeah, okay."

He followed Pansy out of their compartment, and he heard Blaise call from behind them in an all too cheerful voice. "Have fun, you two!"

Draco rolled his eyes.

Fun was the furthest thing from his mind. This year was going to be worse than any of them had originally thought. _Fuck_.

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 **A/N:** I promised I would have this up by the end of this week, right? Haha, I did want to post this earlier, but it's Finals week so I'm swamped with studying and essays and projects. I've also been reading this book series _Red Queen_ (so so so good) and I started watching this show _Shameless_. Yep, I've been busy.

I intended for this chapter and the next chapter to be one single chapter, but it turned out to be too long, so I split it in half. So yeah, that's why this is all Draco's POV. Next chapter will be all Hermione's POV.

Shakespeare plays I mentioned: Romeo and Juliet, A Midsummer's Night Dream, Hamlet, Julius Caesar.

Song title: Bitter and Sick by One Two (bc Draco is bitter...and he's sick)

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please let me know what you think!

-Amanda


	5. The Lightning Strike

**Disclaimer:** From now on I'm going to stop putting this. You all get the idea...

 **A/N:** Happy Valentine's Day! I'm late, I know, and I'm sorry. The past month has been so hectic and busy for me. Thank you to all of you who have continued to review this story. Your comments motivate me to write faster! The next chapter will be up sooner, I promise! I went through and edited this really quickly, so let me know if you see any major mistakes...I really just wanted to get this posted. Anyways, enjoy the next chapter!

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Chapter Five: The Lightning Strike

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Hermione's entire interaction with Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson left her in an intermittent state of bewilderment. It was strange, and her mind couldn't stop analyzing what had just happened.

They had wanted to _help her_.

It didn't make sense.

The two snakes had spent the past six years tormenting Hermione and her housemates, calling her the most repugnant names, shoving her large pile of books from her small arms, sticking a foot out causing her to stumble. The Slytherins were the nastiest sort of bullies. They tormented without a hint of remorse, laughed at other people's pain, and found a joyful satisfaction in doing so. They were monsters.

Death Eaters. They seemed to triumphantly hold that title like a shining trophy.

Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater. In the midst of all the uncertainties that floated around her, Hermione was certain about that. Malfoy bore the dark mark on his left arm, yet he wanted to help her. Why?

The question plagued Hermione like a disease she couldn't shake. It sat unyieldingly in the center of her thoughts, showing no sign of presenting an answer.

 _None of this ma_ _kes_ _any_ _sense_ , her thoughts screamed.

Her brow furrowed in intense thought as she sat down in the seat closest to the window. Their compartment felt empty without Harry and Ron. Neville, Ginny, and Luna were good company, of course, but this year already showed a stark difference from past school years.

Hermione's heart ached as she pulled her thoughts from Malfoy and Parkinson's odd display to Hogwarts. The Hogwarts she knew was gone, now replaced as a beacon for the dark arts. She mourned the loss of the happiness and excitement the train ride used to bring her, and instead reluctantly accepted what was to come.

She peered out the window and stared at the brick wall on the other side. Neville, Ginny, and Luna stood in the hallway with most of the other students, waving and shouting their last goodbyes to their families through the small, open windows. Hermione leaned her head against the cold window, welcoming the brisk chill that touched her skin.

Her parents weren't standing on the platform, like Ginny's or Luna's, she thought somberly. Even if in some impossible scenario, they were standing on the magic platform 9¾, her parents wouldn't remember her. A shiver crept up her spine.

What she did was awful, and quite possibly unforgivable, but it was necessary. Hermione had gotten in the habit of doing that. Whenever she did or said something questionably immoral, she just reminded herself that it was necessary.

Her anger towards Harry and Ron was necessary so she could cope with the absence of her two best friends. Hermione's isolation from the rest of the Order and the Weasleys was necessary because if she forced herself to be around them, something impulsive and rude might erupt from her lips. Going to Hogwarts was another necessity, to help the younger students, to help Professor McGonagall.

Necessary.

She toyed with the word in her mind, picking it apart. In another life, these foolish things wouldn't be necessary. Hermione shouldn't need to be angry or hide her feelings or put her life in danger. Hermione shouldn't need to do any of this. In another life, another world, yes, she could avoid this.

But this life was hers. This world was hers, and there was no escaping.

The door of the compartment slammed shut as her three friends took their seats next to her. Silence engulfed them as they stared at one another, the same grim thoughts passing through their minds.

"What book are you reading, Hermione?" Neville said, breaking the dense silence. His voice was filled with an obvious false cheer, but no one paid attention to it.

Hermione's brown eyes wandered down to the leather-bound book that sat on her lap. "It's a play, actually. Hamlet."

She was met with three blank faces. Her friends wouldn't know any of Shakespeare's works. Unlike Hermione, they had all grown up with magic, far away from Muggle authors. Their puzzlement made perfect sense.

The thing that didn't make sense to Hermione was Malfoy's recognition. She hadn't missed the unusual way his grey eyes swept over the book's cover. She hadn't missed the moment his eyes widened at the title. She hadn't missed the way he tried to act like he hadn't seen anything.

Why would Draco Malfoy, the heir of Pureblood values and Slytherin Prince, know of a Muggle author?

" _Hamlet_?" Neville elongated the syllables. "What's it about?"

"Death," Hermione said plainly.

Ginny laughed and extended her long legs so they were sitting on the seat across from her. "Hermione, why is it that you _always_ choose the most morbid books to read? Ever heard of _happy_ stories with _happy_ endings?"

"Yeah, like _Babbitty Rabbitty and the Cackling Stump_?" Neville added.

" _The Wizard and the Hopping Pot_?" Ginny said with a toothy smile and raised eyebrows.

"Oh, how about _The Tale of the Gulping Plimpies_?" Luna said in her usual dreamy, soft voice.

Ginny scrunched her nose. " _Gulping Plimpies_?"

Luna nodded. "You know, Gulping Plimpies. They're repelled by Gurdyroots, unfortunately."

The other three pairs of eyes stared at Luna, perplexed by what she said. Neville cleared his throat. "Can't say I've ever heard of that one, Luna. You should definitely tell me about it later, though."

Hermione smiled at Neville's kind approach. He had such a high regard for other people's feelings, and Hermione often wondered why he hadn't been sorted into Hufflepuff as an eleven year old. But as the years passed by, she watched as Neville demonstrated act after act of admirable Gryffindor courage. The sorting hat's choice was undeniable. Neville belonged in Gryffindor.

The train hitched forward, and their four bodies swayed with it. Hermione let out an unsteady sigh of relief. "Not all of those stories are actually happy."

The morning before the wedding, the now late Minister of Magic had arrived at The Burrow with three peculiar items in tow: the Golden Snitch from Harry's first Quidditch game, a Deluminator, and an especially tattered copy of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_. These items were Albus Dumbledore's gifts to them. The Snitch was for Harry, the Deluminator for Ron, and the book for Hermione. Harry and Ron hadn't been present to collect their items, so Hermione had all three in her trunk.

 _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ was the book that kept Hermione from hexing someone's head off during the past month. She read through the stories over and over until she could recite them from memory.

They were strange gifts from the late Headmaster. They were old trinkets. Hermione doubted they were anything of value, just things sitting on the shelves of Dumbledore's office, collecting dust. Her mind had slaved away trying to come up with a reason for these gifts, but Hermione couldn't come up with anything.

There was the odd mark etched into the book, however. It probably meant nothing, but it was strange all the same.

Ginny shrugged. "Yeah, but they all end happily. Sort of."

The train whistle sounded in the distance, bringing the four friends into silence one more. Hermione leaned her head back and stared out the window.

Today was a dreadfully dull day. The sky was clouded a dark grey, and a drizzle seemed to fall over them every five minutes. Starks of lightning shot through the sky in the distance. Hermione watched the white light dance across the clouds. It was hypnotizing. It was simple. She needed to focus on something simple.

Neville and Ginny busied themselves in a vibrant conversation, dropping the names of famous Quidditch players Hermione had heard Ron talk about. Luna took to reading the most recent edition of The Quibbler, upside-down of course.

Hermione once asked Luna why she read the magazine the wrong way. Luna had replied in an almost scandalized voice, "There is no other way to read it, Hermione." A peek at the magazine told Hermione that there was indeed a right way, but she wouldn't dare start an argument with the blonde Ravenclaw. Luna was too stuck in her beliefs. Though, that wasn't a bad thing.

Minutes passed, maybe a whole hour. Hermione gazed out the window, sometimes letting her eyelids flutter shut, but sleep never met her exhausted being.

"Hermione," Luna said in a hushed voice. Hermione glanced at Neville and Ginny, whose relentless conversation continued. "Are you worried for Harry and Ron?"

"No," Hermione lied, keeping her voice quiet so Ginny wouldn't hear.

Luna predictably saw straight through her poor deceit. "It's okay if you are. In my opinion, I think they made a very reckless decision in leaving you behind. It will be hard for them to manage without you, but I think they still can, don't you?"

Hermione mumbled something that sounded like "I don't know."

Luna hummed in thought. "Maybe it's better for you to go to Hogwarts, though. Protect the younger students. Who knows? Maybe we could start Dumbledore's Army again? I suspect Draco Malfoy won't be using the Room of Requirement anymore."

She froze at the mention of the blonde-haired Slytherin. "It's too risky, Luna."

"Hmm…" Luna stared at a spot at the wall. "I wasn't as close as you were, Hermione, but I saw a lot of Blibbering Humdingers around him. Blibbering are the worst kind. They're quite noisy. Did you see them?"

"No, I wasn't really paying attention to that, Luna. Maybe next time." Hermione voice came out colder than she intended, but she didn't care.

"Are you talking about Malfoy's little show today?" Ginny asked, her face lighting up in interest.

Every urge told Hermione to scream in frustration. She had spent the whole train ride trying to rid the blonde and his weird behavior on the platform from her thoughts. Hermione didn't want to think about Draco Malfoy, she didn't want to talk about Draco Malfoy, she didn't care about Draco Malfoy.

Her brown eyes wandered desperately towards the window, searching for the streaks of lighting. They were gone. The sun peaked through the clouds, and Hermione cursed the giant, distant orb. The sun's rays seemed so unfitting. She wanted the rain and the clouds back.

"Yeah, did you see the bags under his eyes? Being one of You-Know-Who's cronies isn't treating him well, is it? Do you think the bastard regrets taking the mark?" Neville said, smiling.

Ginny scoffed. "No _way_. He probably is in heaven right now. Slaughtering Muggle-Borns and Blood Traitors. All of his dreams have come true. He's finally his father."

Ginny and Neville laughed at that. Luna's blue eyes remained locked on Hermione, and Hermione looked anywhere, desperate for the conversation to maneuver itself into a different subject.

Luna, much to Hermione's dismay, asked, "Why do you think he saved Hermione?"

The two Gryffindors across from Hermione and Luna stared at the Ravenclaw in disbelief. Ginny let out a nervous chuckle. "The bloke didn't save Hermione from anything."

Hermione met eyes with Ginny.

"Yes, he did," Luna argued. "Theo Nott's father was there, you saw it. Pansy and Draco told Hermione to get on the train. They saved her."

Another long beat of silence met Luna's words.

Neville shook his head in disbelief.

Ginny's mouth opened and closed, sentences forming in her mind, but she thought better of saying them out loud.

Hermione wanted to disintegrate into the frayed, old seat of the compartment.

The Ravenclaw shrugged. "I think he saved her," Luna said, flipping her magazine back open. She removed herself from the conversation and began to read.

The Gryffindors exchanged bewildered expressions.

Ginny grunted. "Well, whatever his reasons, they were selfish. We all know Malfoy would rather see Hermione get _Crucio-_ ed than see her live for another day. I mean… It's _Malfoy_."

"Exactly! His life was probably on the line or―or something. The Slytherin scum doesn't have a selfless bone in his body." Neville voice trailed off.

Neville and Ginny stared at Hermione, waiting for her to add to the conversation. Hermione kept her pink lips sealed shut. Her hand gripped the book on her lap so her friends couldn't see how badly her hand shook.

All of her fears had been confirmed. Ginny and Neville had been hesitant to answer. They, like Hermione, couldn't come up with a feasible reason for Malfoy's strange, selfless behavior. Poor excuses spurred from their mouths, none of them providing an answer for the question that prodded Hermione's buzzing brain.

_Why?_

She jumped at a knock on the compartment door.

"It's probably just the trolley. Anyone want anything?" Neville scanned the compartment for offers, but no one responded. Neville shrugged and pulled open the door.

Hermione felt the color drain from her face.

Pansy Parkinson, a friendly smile plastered across her face, with Draco Malfoy standing behind her, looking angry at the world.

The Gryffindors and Ravenclaw stared at the Slytherins in silent shock, and the Slytherins stared back at them. Parkinson's smile was forced, but it didn't waver. Hermione's gaze rolled to Malfoy's who appeared to be adamantly avoiding Hermione. His grey eyes were locked on a spot on the floor. Malfoy looked bored and annoyed, like he would rather stick his hand in a pot of fire than be standing here.

"Hi, you may know us as Pansy―"

Parkinson's rehearsed speech was adamantly cut off by Ginny's profane protests. "What the _fuck_ do you think you two are doing here?"

Parkinson's sweet smile quickly turned into a nasty scowl. "I don't know, Weasley. Maybe if I hadn't been cut off you would have found out."

"We don't want to hear anything you have to say," Neville retorted. His hand moved to pull the compartment door shut, but the black-haired Slytherin stuck her hand out and gripped the door.

Her face was frightfully cold, and if Neville had been two years younger, he would have run from Parkinson. "I'll be quick, Longbottom." She smiled and wagged her eyebrows once. "I promise. Now, you may of heard that Draco and I are the Heads for this year at school."

Neville muttered something about Hermione deserving it, but Pansy continued without pause.

"There are new rules we are spreading throughout the train before we arrive." She glanced at the sheet of paper in her hands. "First, DADA will be replaced with Dark Arts, and Muggle Studies is now a required class for _all_ students. There will also be no… there will be no prefects this year… unfortunately."

Ginny stood from her seat. " _What_?!"

Parkinson launched into an insincere apology, but Hermione drowned it out. She watched Malfoy. He was still dedicated to avoiding her eyes, but the shift of his body told her he knew Hermione was staring at him. She glanced at his under-eyes. Neville was right, the skin under Malfoy's eyes was almost grey with exhaustion. How could Hermione not have noticed it before?

Finally, his grey eyes traveled up to hers. They weren't cold or mean, but… _absent_. They hadn't appeared to have experienced happiness in years.

"― _Weasley,_ please! You can file complaints when we get to school. There's only once more thing I need to say." Parkinson took a large breath. She said quietly, "The Cruciatus Curse will be used as a form of punishment for the next year." She spoke so quickly that her words blended together, but Hermione understood them all the same.

This news wasn't surprising at all. Hermione knew it was going to happen, but the confirmation was hallowing.

Ginny's lips turned into a fine line. There were a million thoughts buzzing through her head, but Hermione knew she was too smart to actually say anything. There was nothing they could do.

Parkinson sighed. "Thank you for your cooperation." She turned to leave, and Neville's hand whipped to close the door again. His fingers curled around the handle, but a voice stopped him from pulling it shut.

"Granger." Malfoy's voice was quiet but tense.

Hermione lifted her head to face him, wholly unsure of whether he had actually said something. Her mind couldn't properly process if Malfoy had actually spoke, or if she had just imagined the word. It was when Parkinson's black hair whipped around as she turned to face her fellow Slytherin. The shocked and concerned look across her pale face confirmed everything for Hermione.

He had spoke. It wasn't a hallucination. Malfoy had spoke to _her_ , for the second time today.

Hermione's head grew dizzy with the fresh influx of questions. Part of her wanted desperately to know what Malfoy needed to say to her, but the other part wanted nothing more for the compartment door to close, blocking out the Slytherins for the rest of the train ride.

His grey eyes lifted from the floor to meet her own. She stilled, fearful he would pull his wand out and torture her, maybe he would even kill her. No, he wouldn't do that. Would he? His eyes matched the tone of his voice. They were weary, like he regretted speaking at all. "We need to talk. Alone."

" _What_?" Parkinson asked, her black brows high on her forehead.

Hermione risked a hurried glance at Ginny. The redhead's expression was as expected. Her jaw went slack, brown eyes wide as she looked at Malfoy. Her eyes darted between Malfoy and Hermione. Ginny couldn't believe this was actually happening. Hermione couldn't believe it either. Ginny shook her head, and echoed Parkinson's words. " _What_?"

Luna hummed indifferently, and she turned her focus back towards her copy of The Quibbler. Neville, on the other hand, looked as if he were about to pass out. "You're a Death Eater," he stammered out. "It's your fault Dumbledore is dead! Sure, you might not have been the one to take his life, but you're still a killer, Malfoy! No way Hermione would go with you." His voice shook. Neville knew what Malfoy could do to him if he stepped out of line. Punishment wasn't a consequence for the Slytherin. Not anymore. Malfoy would be rewarded for committing heinous acts on the occupants of the compartment.

Malfoy ignored Neville's protests. His eyes finally flicked to Hermione, and his piercing gaze caused her to sink further into her seat. Malfoy was waiting for her answer, but the appropriate words to say were lost to her.

She sighed, and the breath came out staggered, laced with nerves. Denying him was the right choice. It was the smart and obvious choice, and Hermione hated going against what was right and good. But curiosity overwhelmed her. The small interactions on the platform and this moment jarred her out of any logical thought. He was different. Malfoy's arrogance remained on display for the world, but there was something else underneath the surface. Anguish, maybe.

And Hermione was going to find out what exactly was different about him.

The air in the compartment grew heavy as the stunned silence pushed down on the six teenagers.

Hermione swallowed. "Okay."

Ginny took in a sharp intake of air. "Hermione, no."

"He's not going to kill me, Ginny. Not here, not now. There's too many people." Hermione spoke with confidence, but fear vibrated through her body. "I'll be okay."

"He's dangerous."

"So am I."

"Hermione―"

" _Ginny_ , I'll be _fine_." Hermione huffed and looked up at Malfoy, chin lifted in a confidence that didn't quite meet her heart. When she stood up, her legs wobbled, but she managed to hide her shaky stature from her friends. Hermione put her book on her recently vacated seat.

Malfoy's eyes stilled on the cover for a moment. His gaze darted to Hermione, and his pale face flushed.

Yes, he definitely recognized the title.

Hermione raised her eyebrows at him. "Well?"

A hand raked through his blonde locks. Malfoy said nothing, only cocked his head to the right, motioning Hermione to follow.

"Malfoy, if you lay a hand on her, I swear I'll―" Neville sneered from behind her.

"You'll hex me into oblivion. Yeah, I get it." Malfoy's voice was toneless. It was apparent by his annoyed expression that he was eager to get whatever he wanted with Hermione over with. She suspected that he might be second guessing his impulsive decision.

Without another word or glance at Hermione, Malfoy walked away from the compartment, leaving five bewildered faces behind him. Seconds passed, and Hermione stared absently at the wall in front of her, wondering what exactly she had gotten herself into.

She forced her feet to step forward. Hermione wiggled around Parkinson, who remained planted in the middle of the walkway. Her jaw hung slack.

Hermione searched the hallway for Malfoy's blonde head. He turned into a compartment at the end of the train-car.

A stiff hand grabbed her wrist. Parkinson's hand. Her grip softened as the Slytherin girl stared at Hermione with serious eyes. "You'll be okay, you know. He won't hurt you." Her voice was soft, but there was a hint of uncertainty to her tone. Parkinson's words brought an odd sense of comfort to Hermione.

Hermione nodded in understanding.

Parkinson let go of her wrist, and Hermione's tall classmate strode in the opposite direction. She stopped at the compartment next to Hermione's. The door slid open, and Parkinson began the same speech she had just given Hermione and her friends.

Hermione let out a heavy sigh and headed for the last compartment.

As she passed compartment after compartment, she found that many of the doors stood open. Most cabins were bare of any students. Before, it was always frustratingly difficult for Hermione to find an empty one. Despite Hogwarts being required for all, it looked like many students smuggled their way out of returning. Hermione felt a twinge of jealousy, but she ignored it. She belonged at Hogwarts. She needed to protect those who remained.

Her hand darted to the back pocket of her jeans. She needed to make sure her wand was there. Just in case. She didn't expect Malfoy to try anything, but she needed to be ready.

Her fingers curled around the vine wood, and Hermione let out a haggard breath of relief. If it came to violence, she could defend herself. Her shaky hand rubbed up and down her thigh as she approached the compartment door. Malfoy had closed it.

Of course he had.

Hermione pulled the door open, bracing herself for whatever horrors that were bound to come her way.

The sight before her made her breath hitch. There was no dark curses flying her way, no daunting pit of snakes. There wasn't even a shred of any dark magic. Malfoy sat across the seat, his long legs extended. He twirled his wand around with his fingers. His grey eyes found hers, and his gaze was piercing. She forced herself not to look away.

Against her better judgment, she slid the door shut behind her, instantly blocking any witnesses from noticing whatever torture Malfoy had for her.

 _No_ , she mentally corrected herself.

Malfoy, no matter how heinous he was, wouldn't try anything.

Not here. Not now.

Malfoy extended a hand, motioning for her to sit on the seat opposite to him. Hermione stood unwavering in her spot, brown eyes glued to the wand in his hand. He rolled his eyes and shrugged. "So… Granger." His wand stopped it's rapid twirls. "What do they say about me?"

Hermione was caught off guard. She narrowed her eyes. "… _What_?"

"You and your mighty band of Gryffindors. I bet I'm your every conversation." Malfoy laughed. "But is it a pitiful conversation? Perhaps hateful or suspecting?" He eyed her, his gaze searching her features. His voice became quiet. "Well? Which is it, Granger?"

She backed up, but there was no where to go. Her back slammed into the compartment door. Malfoy smirked at this and went back to twirling his black wand.

Hermione said nothing.

"Don't worry, Granger. We aren't here to talk about me."

"Why are we here, Malfoy?"

He carelessly pointed his wand at her. Hermione's hand whipped to her pocket. Her fingers curled around her wand. His smile faded into an expression of curiosity. "You. We are here to talk about _you_."

"Me?"

"Yes."

Her hand never left her wand. She stared at him, tried to read him, but Malfoy's expression was placid. Hermione had no way of telling whether he was happy or sad or mad. He expertly hid any emotions. The only emotion that showed was a strange mixture of amusement and boredom.

Malfoy spoke before she could mumble out a weak response. "Whether or not I've been the topic of your own conversation… well, I'd be lying if I said you weren't a topic of my own." He stared at her. "Why are you here?"

The color drained from her face. She let out a bitter scoff to hide what she was actually feeling. "It's our seventh year, Malfoy. Why wouldn't I be here?"

"I think you'll find the circumstances are a bit different this year."

"That doesn't change anything."

Malfoy laughed humorlessly. "It changes everything, and you know it." He shook his head, and his fingers traced the lines of stitching in the old compartment seats. "You and your _muddy_ blood… You're a target. You aren't safe."

"Funny, Malfoy. It almost sounds like you're worried about me." Hermione said, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

His grey eyes glared at her. "I would sooner die than be worried about a Mudblood's wellbeing. I would just prefer this year to be…quiet. You being here compromises the peace, as I'm sure you're well aware." The last word came out as a quiet murmur.

As much as she hated to admit it, Malfoy was right. There was no denying it. Yes, he was right. Hermione's presence at Hogwarts as Harry Potter's infamous sidekick and her hated blood status made her a target. She knew this. Hell, the whole school did. It wasn't a secret. The mere sound of her name was bound to cause a stir amongst both sides of the war. She was something of a symbol. Not to the extent of Harry, but Hermione had the option to greatly alter things if she chose to.

Her attendance at Hogwarts this year would no doubt cause a stir.

Something in Malfoy's expression softened. "I thought the brains of the Golden Trio was supposed to have… oh, I don't know… _brains_?" His insult didn't come across as crude or impolite, but it was laced with strange concern.

With each second that passed, Hermione grew more aware with the sheer apathy of her decision to return to Hogwarts. She reminded herself that she had no other options. It was necessary.

Malfoy continued on. "It's a bit of a stupid choice, don't you think?"

Stupid, yes. But _necessary_.

He shifted in his seat and stared absently at his feet, his thoughts clearly drifting elsewhere. "You're coming to a school that's crawling with people who would take pleasure in your end. Death Eaters don't have to hide anymore."

"You're a Death Eater," she breathed out.

"Brilliant observation. Ten points to Gryffindor," Malfoy drawled sarcastically.

"You're a Death Eater," Hermione repeated quietly. "What does it matter if I live or die? You shouldn't care. I'm your inferior, right Malfoy? Isn't that what your master wants? To _eradicate_ my kind? You should want me dead. Why do you care?"

Her thoughts raced to the situation that occurred only hours ago. Hermione had asked him why he cared, and he had claimed he didn't. Based on Malfoy's actions over the past six years, that answer made perfect sense. But when Hermione looked back on the bizarre events of today, she wasn't so sure his answer had been the truth.

This time, Malfoy didn't say _I don't_. Instead, he said, "I don't want more people to die."

Hermione faltered at this. She stared at him, searching his face for any sign that this whole conversation was a joke. Draco Malfoy was not remorseful. He did not regret the awful things he had done. He was a bully who acted on impulse, who never gave a shit about how his words or actions affected everyone else.

The Draco Malfoy sitting before her looked like Malfoy, talked like Malfoy, but Hermione had been right about him.

Something was different.

Something had changed.

"But you're a Death Eater," Hermione said, and immediately felt stupid for saying it. She had uttered that phrase three times now, but she couldn't help it. It was the only thing she could say.

Malfoy stood up, and before Hermione could process what was going on, he stood arm's length away from her. She tried to take a step backward, but was reminded that she was already leaned against the compartment door. He took another step towards her.

Hermione held her breath as she stared in awe at the Slytherin in front of her.

"Ask me if I've killed anyone," Malfoy said in a husky voice.

The smell of him was overwhelming. It was the only conceivable thing Hermione's thoughts could latch onto. It was a mixture of coffee, mint, and what was bound to be cologne with an astonishing price tag. It was intoxicating.

Her eyes darted nervously to his grey ones. But his eyes weren't just grey. Flecks of light blue streaked his irises, reminding Hermione of the sky right after a particularly vicious storm. She tore her gaze away from his eyes to the skin underneath them. He looked like he hadn't gotten a good night's sleep in weeks, maybe months.

Hermione huffed as he took yet another step closer to her. The space between them was quickly closing. She defensively put her hands to his chest, trying to push him away. Malfoy was too strong, he wouldn't budge.

"Ask me if I've killed anyone, Granger," he repeated, his voice a whisper.

"What?" Hermione's voice was weak. It trembled, and she hated herself for it. "Is this why you wanted to talk to me? Seriously?"

Malfoy sneered. "Just ask the question."

" _Why_?"

He didn't answer immediately, but Hermione suspected what the answer would be. The dark circles under his eyes, the desperation in his voice… Malfoy had something to prove.

When the silence became too much for him, he said, " _Please_." Malfoys don't beg, this was something Hermione was reminded year after year with the blonde Slytherin.

But here he was.

Standing before a filthy Mudblood, begging.

 _How brave of him_ , she thought bitterly.

Against her better judgement, Hermione gave in. "Have you killed anyone?" She spoke so quietly, but her voice ripped through the deafening silence of the room. It came out a whisper, but it might as well been said through a microphone.

His eyes grazed every feature of her face. Malfoy looked like he was taking her in for the first time, memorizing every line of her skin.

Malfoy backed away from her, giving Hermione the space she needed, but their gazes remained locked.

"No," he said. "No, I haven't."

He walked towards the compartment door and pulled it open. The door pushed Hermione further into the compartment.

Malfoy walked into the train's thin hallway. He stopped, and turned around to look at her one more time. "If you don't mind telling that to the idiots you call friends. I'd prefer the rumor be dispelled."

And then he was gone.

Hermione let out an unsteady breath. She collapsed into the nearest seat, and focused on the stitching of the seat across from her, the one Malfoy had just occupied. Her eyes wandered to the window.

The white streaks of lightning were gone.

The sun peaked through the clouds.

The light blue sky slowly became visible.

It was strangely unsatisfying.

She leaned into the soft cushions of her seat, and let her eyes flutter shut for the second time that day. Hermione had no desire to go back to the other compartment. She would be interrogated, prodded. As much as she loved her friends, Hermione needed to be alone.

_What the hell had just happened?_

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A/N: Thank you all for continuing to read this story! Please, please, please let me know what you think!

Song Title- The Lightning Strike (What If This Storm Ends?) by Snow Patrol (Honestly, this song perfectly embodies Draco and Hermione)


	6. Cracks

**A/N:** It's been exactly a month and two days since my last update, and I'm sorry. I think all of us can plan on my update schedule being once a month until summer arrives. Thank you to everyone who continues to read/comment. You guys are the best! This chapter is a bit longer than the others, and I hope you guys like it!

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Chapter 6: Cracks

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There was an apparent difference in the castle. Hermione noticed the moment she stepped through the thick, towering doors of the Entrance Hall.

Yes, something was different.

Maybe it was how the candles lining the walls seemed less bright than usual. Maybe it was the fact that the damages from the Death Eater intrusion last June had never been properly fixed. Maybe it was the student's faces, frowns sitting where smiles used to.

Or perhaps it was because of the three Death Eaters that stood looming in the shadows. Their expressions were grim and distasteful as they looked down upon the students filing into the ancient building. Cloaked in black, left arms tainted… they represented every awful thing Dumbledore had tried to prevent from entering the school.

Amycus Carrow, Alecto Carrow, and Severus Snape.

All of their eyes were a somber black. It was rather fitting, Hermione thought. The dark, dead shade was a proper representation of their utter lack of compassion and their complete absence of morals. If they weren't so morally corrupt, she would have felt pity for them and their ruinous ties to Lord Voldemort.

A foreboding feeling swept through her body as she stared at the walls of the castles.

Hogwarts looked entirely the same, but the dark ambience it gave off was disconcerting.

Ginny slipped her arm through Hermione's, and squeezed her closer. The redhead was talking spiritedly to her fellow Gryffindors. She was providing a necessary distraction from the grim and obvious severity of their situation.

"―oh, and Hermione, you should have seen it. They practically _stormed_ the train looking for Harry. It was bloody scary. I mean, as if Harry would be stupid enough to show his face! But lucky for all of us, our brave Neville scared them off."

Ginny gave Neville a playful nudge, who smiled sheepishly but stayed silent.

"It's really too bad that you didn't come back to the cabin," Ginny continued. "How was your _talk_ with Malfoy, by the way? Did he spill all his dark, evil Death Eater secrets?" She laughed at the thought.

Hermione snorted. "No, he… he just condemned me for coming back to Hogwarts this year, that's all. It was a bit….uh, strange, really."

It wasn't worth mentioning the other part of the conversation. Ginny and Neville would break out into a hysterical fit of laughter if Hermione told them that Malfoy had never killed anyone. They wouldn't believe it, anyways. Hermione wasn't sure if she believed it herself.

Ginny smiled. "Well, Malfoy's a strange bloke, isn't he? He's practically―" They finally turned into the entrance of the Great Hall and stopped in their tracks. " _Oh_ ," Ginny breathed out.

The windows at the end of the hall were hastily boarded up with slabs of wood. Snape hadn't bothered to have the massive glass windows repaired after the Death Eater raid. Hermione grimaced at the unwelcoming sight and moved her gaze to the ceiling.

There was nothing. There were no decorative candles or starry galaxies on the ceiling. Instead, a dark ceiling bare of any color sat up above.

A chill ran down Hermione's spine.

Albus Dumbledore was dead and gone, and the Hogwarts they had known left with him. Snape wanted the entire student body to be aware of this. Judging on everyone's slacked jaws, the message was received loud and clear. Students of every house, even Slytherin, wore a look of awe on their faces.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw someone move to stand next to her. She turned her head to see Luna. The younger Ravenclaw stared at the room in amazement. Her expression didn't match the horror on everyone else's faces.

"It's all very heartbreaking, isn't it?" she murmured. Luna's blue eyes found Hermione's, and the Ravenclaw raised her eyebrows expectantly.

All Hermione could do was nod.

Luna started to hum an indistinct song. The melody ripped through the silence of the room as the blonde made her way towards the Ravenclaw table.

Hermione exhaled. "Come on, guys. Let's go find somewhere to sit," she said to her friends. A bright smile forced itself on her lips. They nodded without taking their eyes off the harrowing appearance of the Great Hall.

The Gryffindor table was already filled with students. The seventh year Gryffindors were huddled together near the end of the table. Their faces were serious as they talked to one another. Hermione made her way over to them with Neville and Ginny following close behind.

Lavender was the first to notice their approach. She smiled and said, "Hey, Hermione."

Seamus and Dean's heads shot up, and they each gave a small, friendly waves.

Hermione tried her best to flash a cheerful smile. She sat next to Dean and across from Lavender. Ginny gave an exaggerated sigh as she and Neville took the seats beside Hermione and Lavender.

Hermione cleared her throat. "How was your break?"

They exchanged knowing glances.

"Hermione..." Seamus paused. "Er… why are you here?"

"Seamus!" Lavender exclaimed, as Dean suppressed his laughter. " _God_ , Don't be so blunt." She turned to Hermione. "What he means to say is it's a bit _dangerous_ for you to be here right now."

"It's dangerous for all of us to be here right now," Hermione noted in a quiet voice. "Besides, I can't miss my last year at Hogwarts."

A look of confusion spread across Lavender's face. "But Harry and Ron aren't here."

"What an apt observation, Lav," Ginny scolded.

Lavender sighed as she busied herself with drawing circles on the table with her manicured fingers. "It's just… yeah, I know it's dangerous. But, Hermione, it's especially dangerous for _you_."

Hermione stared at her housemate for a moment. "And why is that?"

Her brown eyes widened as if she couldn't believe what Hermione was saying. "Because, you're best friends with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, _that's why_! You have a big red target on your back, and frankly, you're a bit stupid to come to a place that's crawling with Death Eaters! Even _I_ know that."

Neville's jaw went slack as his eyes darted between Lavender and Hermione. Dean's palm darted to his face to hide the smile that tugged on his lips. Seamus didn't do anything to suppress his wide grin.

There was a long moment of silence. "Lavender…" Hermione started to smile. "Are you _worried_ about me?"

Ginny beamed at this. "Aw, Lav!" She reached across the table and gave Lavender a joking shove. "It only took you six years."

"Oh, shut up," Lavender muttered, cheeks flaming red.

A small chuckle escaped Hermione's lips. Mere seconds passed, and they were soon all roaring with laughter over the frivolous fact that Lavender had shown her first sliver of affection for her roommate in six years. Their obnoxious laughter only caused them to laugh harder.

Guilt tried to seep its way through Hermione's consciousness, tried to rile Hermione's brain, tried to tell her that they shouldn't be so happy, so careless in dangerous times like these. Why should they laugh while people were dying on the other side of the country? What gave them the right?

But she blocked the impending questions.

Because, even if just for a couple minutes, their prominent and somber thoughts of the war dissipated, and Hermione was grateful for it.

It _almost_ felt like normal.

Almost.

.

* * *

.

It was like a giant, metaphorical crack ran through the magical seams of Hogwarts. Every working part of the school was maintaining balance, but just barely.

Draco could see it in everyone's faces.

He saw it on a third year's face. The tears that streamed down her face, and her silent cries to her friends.

 _I don't want to go in there. Please, let's go back._ Please _, Olivia._

A couple weeks ago, her face was plastered mercilessly on the front page of the Daily Prophet. Her parents had been murdered. The black words on the newspaper told the world that the only reason she avoided that same fate was because she was in France, visiting her grandparents.

They had commended her for her good fortune.

They had said she was lucky.

 _Lucky_.

Draco almost laughed out loud at the thought.

If luck was loosing your entire family to a heartless murder, then yes, she was lucky. If luck was feeling the most intense fear towards a school that was supposed to be the safest place in Great Britain, then yes, she was lucky. If luck meant crying openly in front of a crowd scrutinizing peers, then yes, she was the luckiest damned witch on the planet.

Draco couldn't even remember her blood status. Not that any of that mattered anymore.

Death smiled down on them all. It didn't matter if you were Muggle-born, Pureblood, or Muggle, Death laughed as he plucked life after life from Earth. His fingers tickled the sky as he decided who would be next to join him. Everyone was at risk, regardless of blood status.

The only thing any of them could do was smile back.

But it was Hermione Granger's reaction to the wretched state of the school that had the greatest effect on him.

Her brown eyes had grazed over the Great Hall. A flash of pain washed over the fine features of her face. The emotion left as quickly as it had arrived.

She replaced her look of raw and detrimental confusion with contentment. She smiled brightly, said something to her friends, and walked towards the table filled with her merry band of fellow Gryffindors.

Her movements had been almost mechanical. They were too thought out, too forced. It was obvious Granger was trying to hide any uneasiness. She couldn't appear weak, not anymore, and definitely not here.

Draco absently wondered if anyone else noticed.

Probably not. Everyone in the room was too absorbed in their conversations or their attentions too focused on the room to notice the intricate changes in her facial expressions. Not even her friends noted her stiff motions. Her facade was brilliantly crafted.

His thoughts came to a sudden halt.

Why did Draco, of all people, notice it?

Perhaps it was because his mind was still reeling from their conversation on the train, if he could even call it that.

 _A conversation_.

It wasn't much of one, not really. It had lasted only a few minutes, filled with mostly whispered threats and accusations. No matter the duration, the intensity of their words was unmistakable.

Draco didn't know why he had indulged her in his deplorable lack of massacre. For fuck's sake, he was a _Death Eater_. Killing should be easy, thoughtless, _entertaining_. Why was he so sensitive to it? It was a simple task for the rest of the Dark Lord's loyal servants, but Draco couldn't bring himself to do it. There was no reason to. He had no reason to kill.

But why had he told _her_?

He didn't do it because he wanted her pity. He just… he didn't want to be seen as a tainted soul. It wasn't just Granger's perception of him that mattered, it was everyone's.

And what did that make him?

Human. It made him human.

For years he listened to his father spew lie after lie about the superiority of the Malfoy bloodline. Draco was told that to show emotion was to be weak. He was told that sometimes violence was necessary for the progression of a proper society, and he was told that remorse was a feeling that was not to be touched.

Draco was taught how to hide his emotions, how to suppress them, how to ignore their existence. From the moment he learned to talk, he knew humanity was a trait that made him weak and subject to scrutiny.

Cold, calculating, and maniacal. That's what was expected of a proper Malfoy heir, his father had proudly boasted.

All of his father's bravados were a sickening infestation of lies.

Draco knew that now.

A loud round of applause and cheers came from the Gryffindor table. Another first year gifted with membership to the brave, courageous house smiled cheekily as he sat down at the table.

The Gryffindors' hoots and hollers were louder this year. Draco guessed it was their own way to show defiance against Snape and the Carrows. Not that it would do any actual change. The only thing it would do was annoy the three Death Eaters, maybe make them a little angry. If it was progress the Gryffindors were looking for, they surely wouldn't find it in shoving their obvious pride down everyone's throats.

The entire table underestimated the wrath of the Carrows.

Sure, Snape would be predictably distant, avoiding any interaction with students unless it was absolutely necessary. He'll take an unnecessary amount of points from the Gryffindors, but Draco couldn't imagine him going as far as to physically harm a student.

The Carrows were different. They didn't have the self-control and passiveness that Snape did. Alecto and Amycus were ruthless. They were monsters. Draco had seen it first-hand.

The perseverance of morals was the last thought on their convoluted minds. The Cruciatus Curse was their specialty, and they wouldn't hesitate using it on any student who even looked at them the wrong way.

Draco rested his chin on his palm as he waited for the rest of the first years to be sorted. He sat with Pansy, Theo, and Blaise near the back of the Hall.

Crabbe and Goyle had tried to join them, but Blaise had shot a round of insults their way, all with a toothy smile plastered on his face. The idiotic oafs told the dark-skinned Slytherin that they were " _respected Death Eaters who deserved to_ _be_ _treated with honor_." To that, Blaise only laughed, took his cup filled to the brim with grape juice, and he spilled it across the benches.

With a winning smile and an unperturbed shrug, he had said, "Oh man, I'm sorry, guys. I guess you can't sit there anymore."

Pansy snorted with laughter, and Blaise grinned wider.

The two dense Slytherins, too daft to recall that they were in fact wizards who could easily clean the mess, had looked to Theo and Draco for help. Realization set in that no aide was coming their way, so they sauntered over to where the sixth year Slytherins sat, and that was the end of it.

At least one thing remained familiar about Hogwarts: Crabbe and Goyle's unfailing stupidity.

"Slytherin!" McGonagall's voice tore through the air, ripping him from his thoughts.

The noise and side conversation came to an immediate halt. Every pair of eyes looked up to see a young girl with light brown hair seated on the stool. His heart stopped beating for a moment as he stared at her shocked, forlorn face.

Even from afar, Draco could see the tears that threatened to fall from the corners of her eyes. The girl was devastated, and rightfully so. Slytherin was the house of the Dark Arts, home to the most heartless of Death Eaters. Everyone knew it.

Some third and fourth years broke the uneasy silence by clapping. Soon the whole Slytherin table clapped, but the other houses silently stared as the first year made her slow, dreaded walk to the table of snakes.

She sat at the very end of the table, placing a considerable amount of space between herself and the rest of the Slytherins. Her eyes avoided contact with anyone who attempted to strike up a conversation with her.

McGonagall glanced sympathetically in the brown-haired girl's direction, but she continued down the list of first years.

Pansy shifted in her seat as they watched on. Without a word to her friends, she stood from her seat with delicate grace, and she walked down the long Hall to wear the first year sat alone. She took the seat directly in front of her and started talking.

Since she was so far, Draco couldn't hear any of the words they exchanged, but he did notice the change in the small girl's stature as Pansy smiled and talked. She talked and talked and talked, not paying any attention to the Sorting ceremony, not caring at all if she was being a distraction.

Sometimes Draco second guessed his friend's sorting. Pansy had the ability to be relentlessly kind when she wanted to. Yes, she was mean and selfish and privileged, but she was capable of showing altruism, a skill that was lost to many Slytherins.

He didn't know why he looked her way, but in that moment Draco's eyes landed on Granger. Her brows were narrowed in curiosity as she stared at Pansy. As if she could sense his gaze, her eyes snapped to his.

He kept his face neutral and emotionless as he glared back.

They stared at one another, each daring the other to look away first. Granger lost the game rather quickly. Her cheeks became a dark pink, and like the dutiful student she was, she turned her attention back to the front of the Great Hall.

Noticing the exchange, Theo raised a questioning eyebrow at Draco, but he remained silent.

Blaise, on the other hand, was too busy peering in Pansy's direction to properly notice anything of suspicion.

The three Slytherins sat through the rest of the ceremony without a word to one another. Draco expected Pansy to make her return before Snape's opening speech, but she remained planted in her seat near the first years.

The final first year was sorted into Hufflepuff, and a quiet hush fell over the students as they nervously waited for Snape to take the podium.

An awkward silence passed over the room as McGonagall and Snape switched spots. The look she gave her colleague was one of intense disdain, but Snape didn't falter under her narrowed eyes. His gaze glossed over the older witch's head with cold indifference.

Every head turned towards the front of the room.

Snape began his monotonous speech, but his droning sentences blended into an indistinguishable blur. Every word that fell from his Godfather's lips meant nothing to Draco. Shocked gasps echoed through the room, but Draco's dead eyes stared straight ahead at some spot on the wall in front of him.

" _The Prefect program is annulled_."

" _Curfew is at eight o'clock for all students_."

" _Magic outside of the classroom is forbidden._ "

" _Professors are encouraged to use any punishment deemed necessary._ "

Words on words on words. None of it mattered to him. It should. He should be infuriated, enraged. He should feel every form of extreme anger that existed in this world… Draco should feel it. But the only thing he felt was disinterest.

A look of horror was plastered on almost every face in the Hall, like they were shocked that this would happen. They were actually _shocked_.

What exactly did they expect to happen? Did they expect to walk into a castle run by the Dark Lord and expect everything to be _okay_? For everything to be _normal_?

Draco pitied their stupidity, and most of all, he pitied their disquiet.

They were about to experience first-hand the hell that was Draco's life. This lifestyle was completely fresh for everyone else, but Draco had grown numb to it. The torture, the pain, the apathy… This was his normal.

Despite his own apathy, there was one thing from Snape's speech that seemed to resonate with his peers.

Their freedoms were being ripped from their grips, and there was nothing anyone could do to prevent it.

.

.

Pansy stared for a moment at the map in her hands. She narrowed her eyes. "It should be right here. Draco, check behind the tapestry, will you?"

His eyes darted up and down the dungeon hallway to check if anyone was around to see them using a map. _A map_. It was embarrassing to be seen with a map of Hogwarts after six of years of going to school here.

As much as he wanted to rip the piece of paper to shreds, they needed to find the Head rooms. The map that Snape gave them after dinner sent them to a secluded section of the hallway that Draco suspected hadn't been walked through in decades.

They stood in front of an elegant green tapestry with a snake stitched in in the delicate fabric. The snake's body was cut in half, a cluster of blooming white flowers stemming from the wound. It was both unnerving and beautiful at the same time.

Pansy's gaze moved from the tapestry to her friend. She raised her dark eyebrows, waiting for him to look behind the tapestry.

Draco let out a heavy breath, and reached forward to pull back the green tapestry.

It was a narrow hallway. There were two doors on either side, and a small, rusted window at the end. Dimly-lit candles sat on the sides of the doors, and a dusting of cobwebs covered the ceiling. The small, vacant space looked positively disgusting.

Pansy pushed Draco out of the way so she could get a better look. A disgusted groan escaped her lips as she saw the unkempt state of the hallway. "Couldn't someone have kept it clean after all this time? A good dusting every…hmm, I don't know, five years? Is that too much to ask?"

Draco took a weary step forward, and Pansy followed close behind. He stopped in front of the door on the right side of the hallway. Three letters were etched into the dark chestnut wood.

"T.M.R.," Pansy murmured.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle." His voice was barely a whisper, as he stared at the hastily carved letters. He felt nothing but hatred for the initials. It seemed so odd for three measly letters to have such a grotesque effect on his mood, but here he was…staring at the three letters, an ugly grimace on his lips.

"These rooms haven't been used since the forties." Draco tried to make his voice sound casual, but a nervous tremor was still present.

If Pansy noticed his stutter, she didn't acknowledge it. "Your room, yeah, but when's the last time a Slytherin has been Head Girl? Mine's probably much grimier."

Draco said nothing.

"See?" Pansy said. "You don't even know."

The brass doorknob stared at Draco, beckoning him to twist it. He heard Pansy let out an exasperated groan as she opened her own. She said something, but Draco didn't discern it. His unwavering grey eyes were locked with the doorknob.

He didn't know why he was so scared. There would likely be nothing out of the ordinary on the other side of the door, but it was disconcerting all the same. Lord Voldemort had lived here for part of his life. Even though it had been only a year, he had still _lived here_.

There was a part of Draco, the logical part, that knew an average dormitory sat on the other side. There would be a living area, a bathroom, and a bedroom. Normal, ordinary, and absent of any grim obscurities.

But there was another part of Draco that exaggerated this whole scenario, that on the other side of the thick wood, dark magic and painful hexes would come flying out of thin air. But this, of course, was insanely illogical.

Without another thought of doubt, his hand darted to doorknob, and he pushed open the door.

The room was exceedingly ordinary. From his view in the hallway, he could see a set of dusty leather couches and chairs surrounding a fireplace. A pair of doors sat on each side of the fireplace, and Draco guessed one led to the bedroom and the other to the bathroom. There was a large window on the left side of the room that gave way to the deep blue tones of the Great Lake, and a single desk sat next to the window.

The room was disheveled and frankly disgusting, but from what he could see, there were no traces of Dark Magic. Besides the initials on the outside of the door, it was impossible to tell that the malignant terrorist of the Wizarding World had ever resided here.

Pansy pushed passed him and entered his room. She turned in a circle, taking in every inch of the space. "Your room is ghastly. Still not as bad as mine, though."

Draco sighed indifferently. He stepped into the living room and let his fingers trail across the top of the couch. There was a generous amount of dust covering the pale tips of his fingers. He plopped himself down on the nearest couch and started rubbing his dust-coated fingers.

"You should probably go to bed, Pans," he casually noted. "First day of school and all… you wouldn't want to be tired."

Pansy laughed. " _Draco Malfoy_ , are you trying to get rid of me?"

He twisted his head so he could see his black-haired friend. Draco shrugged and said, " _Pansy Parkinson_ , I wouldn't dare."

She grinned. "Don't worry, I'll leave. I have an entire room to clean." Her eyes travelled around the room once more. "You should probably start cleaning yours too. A few spells is all it'll take. Think you can manage it?"

"No," he said with an exaggerated sigh. "But I guess I'll have to figure it out."

She gave another hearty laugh. The door was moments from closing, but she abruptly turned around to look at Draco once more. "Oh, and Draco, you should probably go to bed. First day of school and all… you wouldn't want to be tired."

Pansy flashed one last toothy grin before closing the door behind her.

It took him less than a minute to clean the living room. A random assortment of spells he had learned over the many years of sitting through Professor Flitwick's class was all he needed to rid the dormitory of any damages or dirt that may have existed. He effortlessly transfigured the furniture into something more modern, and with a simple wave of his wand, green accents were added to the carpet, the curtains, and the wallpaper.

The room reminded him now of a pleasant mix of his own bedroom in the Manor and of the Slytherin common room.

Draco repeated the process for the bedroom and the bathroom, until the entire dormitory was to his liking.

Somehow, he managed to push away any intruding thoughts about the war or Lord Voldemort or even Hermione Granger. All of his worries washed away as his blonde hair met his pillow. His eyelids fluttered shut, and sleep took him away from the world.

.

.

The first two hours of the day passed by with surprising normalcy. She ate breakfast with her friends, rolled her eyes at their talk of Quidditch, and read a book during her free period in the common room.

In fact, the only thing that deviated from Hermione's perfect picture of her Hogwarts morning was she couldn't seem to rid her thoughts of a certain blonde Slytherin.

Last night, she had been under the naive delusion that a good night's sleep would calm her mind. The illogical curiosities surrounding his odd behavior would be brushed away, and she would stop worrying about what was happening in the tragic life of Draco Malfoy.

Oh, Hermione wished it were that easy.

The things he had said on the train wouldn't disappear from her mind, no matter how much she wanted them to. He was supposed to fit into the typical Death Eater puzzle piece. Cruelty, arrogance, and depravity were supposed to be his specialties.

But when Hermione had looked into his tired eyes, she saw none of those things.

Well, there was arrogance, but that was nothing new. But cruelty and depravity? She didn't see it.

She had heard the stories, of course. How could she not? There were rumors that swirled amongst her friends and members of the Order. People whispered in each other's ears about what demented tragedies the Death Eaters had recently committed.

Hermione had just assumed Malfoy had delightfully indulged in the tasks like everyone else.

She was wrong to assume that.

But, on the other hand, she was also wrong to assume the opposite.

If what he told her on the train was true, that he had never killed, that didn't necessarily mean he didn't partake in the torture. He was a known Death Eater, after all. Of course he went on raids and torture sprees. It was what Death Eaters did.

And above all, Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater.

He was the enemy, the villain, no matter what level of remorse he showed.

Hermione couldn't let herself forget that.

The bell sounded, signaling the end of her free period. She looked down at the book sitting in her lap, suddenly remembering it was still there. She hadn't turned a page once during the entire hour.

She gathered her things, swung her bag over her shoulder, and started off towards Ancient Runes. There were no other Gryffindors taking the class. Hermione usually sat with Padma, but given neither of the Patil twins were in attendance this year, she would have to sit alone.

Ancient Runes wasn't by any means Hermione's favorite class. In all truth, she only took it because she chose not to continue with History of Magic, Care of Magical Creatures, or Herbology, and she would feel too guilty if she were only taking six classes.

When she entered the classroom, only a couple of Ravenclaws occupied one of the tables in the front. Where was everyone else? Hermione checked her watch. Class didn't officially start for five more minutes. Still, it was always better to be early. It baffled her that some of her classmates didn't understand that. Harry and Ron's faces came to mind, and Hermione felt a tinge of sadness.

She took a table in the middle of the classroom, hastily throwing her bag next to her chair. A minute passed and no students filed in.

There was no way that only _three_ people were taking Ancient Runes this year. There were over a dozen students last year who enrolled in the class.

She sighed. It would be a very long term if less than five people took the class. Professor Babbling was infamous for the many awkward silences that occurred in her classroom. She would ask a question, and if no one raised their hand, she would do nothing. Absolutely nothing. The entire class would sit in silence waiting until someone was brave enough to answer.

Hermione was usually always the one to raise her hand.

Ancient Runes was dreadfully boring, and none of the other students had the slightest clue as to what was ever going on. It wasn't difficult for Hermione. Unlike the rest of her classmates, she was actually quite good at interpreting runes, but it was dreadfully tedious.

How many rune interpretations did Professor Babbling expect them to make before their eyelids drooped shut with boredom?

The final bell rang through the air. A large group of five Ravenclaws filed in with only a minute to spare. Hannah Abbott followed close behind, arms nervously hugging the book in her arms.

The door to Professor Babbling's office opened. She went through her usual display of greetings, clearly favoring the enthusiastic group of Ravenclaws at the front of the room. Her long black hair was tied in a ponytail at the base of her neck, and it swayed as she surveyed the students. Her brown eyes paused for a moment too long on Hermione. They were filled with pity.

Hermione wanted to sink into her chair and disappear. The attention of being the Chosen One's best friend was something she'd never get used to.

With a swift flick of her wand, the classroom door flew shut.

"Welcome, class, to another exciting year of Ancient Runes," Professor Babbling began. "This year will be quite different from year's past in that―"

With a creak, the door opened again to give way to none other than their illustrious Head Girl.

Parkinson put on one of the most fabricated smiles Hermione had ever seen, and she fought the urge to roll her eyes at the Slytherin. "Oh, Professor Babbling, I am _so_ sorry for being late. There was a lost second year that needed my help finding Professor Hagrid's home, so I had to show him the way. I couldn't very well leave him to find his way by himself. I am _very_ sorry, and I'll understand if you have to dock points."

Hermione almost scoffed. Any student with a properly working brain knows where Hagrid's hut is. A first year getting lost on their first day was one thing, but a second year? Not likely.

Professor Babbling studied her for a moment. "No, Miss Parkinson, I don't think any of that will be necessary. Please take a seat."

Parkinson nodded gratefully at the older witch. "Thank you, Professor." And she sat by herself at a table near the back. She caught Hermione staring at her, but she didn't sneer or say some derogatory comment. She smiled.

Her grin wasn't taunting or callous. It looked completely genuine and that agitated Hermione. She didn't believe the kindness for one second. Parkinson had never shown a shred of decency towards her, and she had no reason to start now.

Just another thing to add to the growing list of things that didn't make sense.

Though not as difficult a puzzle as Malfoy was, Parkinson's actions were perplexing. During sixth year, she had ignored Hermione, hardly even looked in her direction, but for the better part of their education, Parkinson's main target had been Hermione. She jeered at her blood status, laughed at her bushy hair, and derided her inability to find a boyfriend.

She never showed her an ounce of kindness. Never.

But she had warned Hermione of Nott's presence on the platform. She had reassured her on the train that Malfoy wouldn't do anything to hurt her. And when she had comforted the first year last night at dinner, that was… well, Hermione didn't know what it was but it was _something_.

The number one question for all of this was _why_? To Hermione's dismay, the answer, whatever it may be, was out of sight.

"Now where were we…" Professor Babbling mused to herself. "Ah, yes, things in this class will be run differently this year. Our content will be primarily project-based. You will need to sort yourself into pairs. If you'll do that now, that would be much appreciated."

Before Hermione could turn to look at Hannah, Parkinson rushed to Hermione's table and plopped herself down on the chair next to her. The black-haired witch leaned her elbows on the table, resting her chin on her knuckles. She smiled pleadingly.

Hermione stared at her with a look of pure bewilderment. She was at a loss for words. Her gaze darted between Hannah, who was quite obviously disappointed, and Parkinson, whose smile quickly faded with Hermione's growing confusion.

The Slytherin leaned closer to Hermione. "Oh, please, Hermione. Don't make me work with _Mandy Brocklehurst._ "She paused and let her green eyes move to look at Mandy, the only Ravenclaw without a partner. "And I think I'm doing you quite a tremendous favor. Hannah Abbott is not someone you'd want to partner up with for an entire term. Your grades would plummet. I mean, look at her. She's pathetically inept. I don't even know how she got into this class." Parkinson whispered but not quietly enough for Hannah to miss the harsh jab.

Hannah's cheeks grew red. She avoided meeting Hermione's eyes, and scurried over to a disappointed-looking Mandy Brocklehurst.

"We both know you're too smart for her. Besides," she continued. "You wouldn't want to sit next to her for an _entire term_. No right person can bear the constant smell of dragon dung compost."

Hermione brought her hand up to her mouth. Not because of shock, but because she knew if she didn't she would start laughing. Ron had said nearly the same thing two years ago when he worked with Hannah in Charms. She tried to convince herself she was laughing at the memory and not at the present situation.

She felt horrible for even finding Parkinson's words mildly amusing, but everything she said was true. However, she could never openly admit that the Slytherin was right.

"You're so cruel," was all she whispered.

Parkinson shrugged her shoulders. "I'm just being honest. Would you rather have me lie? I am not a liar, Hermione Granger."

Her mind reeled from the fact that Pansy Parkinson had voluntarily chosen to partner up with her. "I don't want to work with you," Hermione said lamely.

"It doesn't look like you have much of a choice. Everyone else already has a partner."

"But―"

"Listen, Hermione―"

She tensed. "Don't call me that."

"It's your name, isn't it?" Parkinson asked, raising her eyebrows.

Hermione faltered. "Well… yes."

"I think it's a bit childish for us to keep calling ourselves by our surnames. Don't you agree?"

"Yes," she agreed, though it almost physically hurt her to do so.

Parkinson―Pansy―smiled triumphantly. "Good."

And so class went on. Professor Babbling introduced their first assignment, a simple translation that a fourth year could likely figure out. She said it was merely for review, so Hermione and Pansy went throughout the whole hour without uttering a single word to each other.

The bell eventually rang, indicating that class was over. She quickly gathered her things, eager to get away from the awkward air that filled the Ancient Runes classroom. Her brown eyes glanced at Pansy, a million questions running through her mind.

"Pansy?" Hermione asked, trying out the word on her tongue. It felt incredibly odd saying her first name. There was no way she could get used to it.

"Hmm?"

There was a brief moment of panic as Hermione searched her brain for the right question to ask, and immediately after asking it, she inwardly cursed herself for choosing such a lackluster question. She could care less about it's answer. "Was there really a second year who needed help?"

Pansy scoffed, "Of course not."

"Oh."

She gave Hermione a quizzical look. "I'll see you later, Hermione."

And with that, Hermione was left staring wide-eyed at the spot where Pansy once stood. The entire past hour felt like an unbelievable dream. Pansy Parkinson had actually been _civil_ to her. Granted, she hadn't been civil any of to her other classmates, but she had shown no hostility towards Hermione.

The other Gryffindors would never believe this. Hermione didn't even believe it. Her mind kept creating absurd excuses for her actions but each one was more ridiculous than the last.

There had to be a reason, some self-serving plan of Pansy's.

But what if there were no hidden intentions? What if Pansy had been cordial simply because she wanted to?

No.

Pansy Parkinson didn't have a kind bone in her body. The years of bullying were enough proof of that. A couple weeks would pass, and she would reveal that it had all been a funny joke to trick Hermione into thinking they could be friends. A trick. That's all it was.

"Miss Granger."

Hermione's head snapped up.

Professor Babbling was staring at her. Her eyebrows were narrowed in concern. "Class is over, Miss Granger. You may go."

"Right," Hermione stammered out. "I'm sorry. Uh, I'll be on my way."

She hurried past Professor Babbling with one thought repeating through her mind. Hermione would think it over and over until she could convince herself it was true.

_A trick._

_That's all it was._

_._

* * *

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 **A/N:** When Draco talks about Death smiling down at them all, I used a quote from an Roman philosopher for inspiration. (Death smiles upon us all. All a man can do is smile back. - Marcus Aurelius)

Song Title- Cracks by Sam Sure

I also would like to recommend that you check out Hold On by Chord Overstreet. That song was on the TVD finale last week (I'm still crying about it to be honest) and it reminds me a lot of Dramione. I'll definitely be using that for a chapter title later on.

Thanks again for reading!


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